Though frightened by such a clear-sighted spectator, by a judge whose skill had so astonished me, I collected my courage, and began by one of those effects to which I had given the name of “flourishes.” It was a brilliant prelude, merely intended to dazzle the eyes while showing the extreme agility of the fingers. Torrini regarded me with indifference, and I fancied I saw a smile playing round his lips. I was, I confess, rather disappointed, but he hastened to console me. “I really admire your address,” he said, “but I put little faith in those flourishes, as you call them. I find them brilliant, but useless. Besides, I am curious to know if you use them at the beginning or end of your card tricks.” “It appears to me logical enough,” I replied, “to place them at the beginning, as they are only intended to dazzle the spectators.” “Well, my boy,” he went on, “we differ on that point. I think that they ought not to be placed either at the beginning or end of any card tricks. For this reason: after such a brilliant exhibition, the spectator will only see in your tricks the result of dexterity, while, by affecting a good deal of simplicity, you will prevent your audience trying to account for them. Thus you produce a supernatural effect, and pass for a real sorcerer.” I quite agreed in this reasoning, the more so as at the beginning of my experiments I had always considered nature and simplicity the bases of the art of producing illusions, and I had laid down the maxim (only applicable to conjuring) that “you must first gain the confidence of the person you wish to cheat.” Hence, I had not been consistent with my principles, and humbly confessed it. It is certainly a singular occupation for a man to whom frankness is natural, to be continually engaged in concealing his thoughts, and seeking the best way of making dupes. But may it not also be urged that dissimulation and falsehood become qualities or defects according to the purpose they are employed for? Does not the merchant, for instance, regard them as precious qualities to heighten the value of his wares? Does the science of diplomacy consist in stating everything with frankness and simplicity? Lastly, is not fashion, or the usages of decent society, an admirable mixture of dissimulation and deceptions? As for the art I cultivated, what would it be without falsehood? Encouraged by Torrini, I regained my assurance. I continued practising all my tricks, and showed him several new inventions of my own. My master paid me some compliments, to which he added sensible advice. “I recommend you,” he said, “to moderate your vivacity. Instead of displaying so much petulence in your movements, affect, on the contrary, extreme calmness, and thus you will avoid those clumsy gesticulations by which conjurers generally fancy they distract the attention of their spectators, when they only succeed in wearying them.”