, the concentrative chess-player will do very well at whist. People think that to play well just means to know how to play. But the analyst makes, in silence, many observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the difference lies in the quality of the observation. Our player examines the face of his partner, comparing it carefully with that of each of his opponents. He notices the cards in each hand; often guessing them through the glances bestowed by their holders upon each
[12]. He notes every variation of face as the play progresses, thinking about the expression of certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or of chagrin.
The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often incapable of analysis. Between ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination. In fact, the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative are often analytic.
The story which follows will prove to the reader these words.
During the spring and part of the summer of 18-, I lived in Paris, and there I became acquainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin[13]. This young gentleman was of an excellent family, but, by a variety of some events, lost nearly all his money. He had a small part of his patrimony[14]; and he managed to survive. Books, indeed, were his only luxuries, and in Paris the books are easily obtained.
Our first meeting was at the library in the Rue Montmartre[15], where we both looked for the same very rare and very remarkable volume. After that, we saw each other again and again. I was deeply interested in his family history which he told me. I was astonished at his mind, and I notices the vivid freshness of his imagination. I felt that the society of such a man would be to me a treasure beyond price[16]. We decided to live together during my stay in the city; and I rented a grotesque mansion in a desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain[17].
Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed the locality of our retirement was a secret from my friends; and Dupin left Paris very gladly.
My new friend adored the night. So we tried to make the night longer. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the shutters of our old building. Then we read, wrote, or talked, waiting for the true Darkness. Then we went out, continuing our conversation.