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I will give up even that one in which my Martin Dupin, the father of thy husband, died. 'Ma mère, she said, holding my hand to her bosom, 'he is not dead he is in Semur. Forgive me, dear Lord!

I will answer the advertisement, get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown over." At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs. "Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neither use them nor show them until at a signal from myself."

The marriage of M. de Chenonceaux rendered his mother's house still more agreeable to me, by the wit and merit of the new bride, a very amiable young person, who seemed to distinguish me amongst the scribes of M. Dupin. She was the only daughter of the Viscountess de Rochechouart, a great friend of the Comte de Friese, and consequently of Grimm's who was very attentive to her.

Women who can never have the name of wife, who know none of the ties of family, these are the dictators whose dress and equipage and appointments give the law, first to France, and through France to the civilized world. Such was the confession of Monsieur Dupin, made in a late speech before the French Senate, and acknowledged, with murmurs of assent on all sides, to be the truth.

"The present peculiar condition of affairs at court, and especially of those intrigues in which D is known to be involved, would render the instant availability of the document its susceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice a point of nearly equal importance with its possession." "Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I. "That is to say, of being destroyed," said Dupin.

The front door of the house had been left open, and the visiter had entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber.

The fact is, the business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively odd." "Simple and odd," said Dupin. "Why, yes; and not exactly that, either.

His career in the Assembly had been that of a valet, his end was that of a scullion. The unprecedented attitude that M. Dupin assumed before the gendarmes when uttering with a grimace his mockery of a protest, even engendered suspicion. Gambion exclaimed, "He resists like an accomplice. He knew all." We believe these suspicions to be unjust. M. Dupin knew nothing.

Yet as Madam Dupin always supposed those I had to be very moderate, and never employed me except it was to write what she dictated, or in researches of pure erudition, the reproach, with respect to her, would have been unjust. This last failure of success completed my discouragement.

The life of the great French novelist, George Sand, is as romantic as any of the characters in her novels. She was born at Paris in July, 1804, her real name being Armandine Lucile Aurore Dupin. At eighteen she married the son of a colonel and baron of the empire, by name Dudevant, but after nine years she separated from her husband, and, bent upon a literary career, made her way to Paris.