Curiosity in a journalist is innate, and time
nor change can efface it. Curiosity in those things which do not
concern us is wrong. Ethics disavows the practice, though
philosophy sustains it. Perhaps in this instance Maurice was
philosophical, not ethical. Perhaps he wanted to hear the
woman's voice again, which was excusable. Perhaps it was neither
the one nor the other, but fate, which directed his footsteps.
Certain it is that the subsequent adventures would never have
happened had he gone about his business, as he should have done.
"Who is this who stares at us?" asked Beauvais, with a piercing
glance and a startled movement of his shoulders.
"A disciple of Pallas and a pupil of Mars," was the answer. "I
have been recruiting, Colonel. There is sharpness sometimes in
new blades. Do not draw him with your eyes."
The Colonel continued his scrutiny, however, and there was an
ugly droop at the corners of his mouth, though it was partly
hidden under his mustache.
Maurice, aware that he was not wanted, passed along, having in
mind to regain his former seat by the railing.
"Colonel," he mused, "your face grows more familiar every moment.
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