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Updated: May 7, 2025
"No rash vows! you may return to politics, you may want office. I am of your way of thinking now: and ha! ha! poor Lumley Ferrers could make you a Lord of the Treasury; smooth travelling and cheap turnpikes on crooked paths, believe me. Farewell!" On entering the room into which Cesarini had retired, Maltravers found him flown.
Nay, frown and stamp not; but sit down, and be reasonable, or leave me and act for yourself." "Sir," said Cesarini, with an eye that might have alarmed a man less resolute than Ferrers, "have a care how you presume on my distress."
But to-morrow, at three, I shall be with you, and we can ride out, if the day be fine." "Surely," said Florence, "yonder is Signor Cesarini how haggard and altered he appears!" Maltravers, turning his eyes towards the spot to which Florence pointed, saw Cesarini emerging from a lane, with a porter behind him carrying some books and a trunk.
Teresa asked innocently who Lord Vargrave was; and De Montaigne, well acquainted with the biography of the principal English statesmen, replied that he had commenced his career as Mr. Ferrers, and reminded Teresa that they had once been introduced to him in Paris. Cesarini suddenly rose and left the room; his absence was not noted, for his comings and goings were ever strange and fitful.
Lumley then conversed lightly on different matters till the wine appeared; he was rather surprised to observe Cesarini pour out and drink off glass upon glass, with an evident craving for the excitement. When he had satisfied himself, he turned his dark eyes to Ferrers, and said, "You have news to communicate I see it in your brow. I am now ready to hear all."
"You may," said Cesarini, gloomily. "Farewell, then," said Lumley, as he mounted; and in a few moments he was out of sight. "O world, thou wast the forest to this hart, Dost thou here lie?" Julius Caesar.
That indifference to living reputation has in it, to me, something of the sublime." "I cannot imitate them and they were not poets," said Cesarini, sharply. "To poets, praise is a necessary aliment; neglect is death." "My dear Signor Cesarini," said the Englishman, feelingly, "do not give way to these thoughts.
Maltravers returned no answer for some moments. At length he said calmly, "Cesarini, there are injuries so great that they defy revenge. Let us alike, since we are alike injured, trust our cause to Him who reads all hearts, and, better than we can do, measures both crime and its excuses. You think that our enemy has not suffered, that he has gone free.
De Montaigne now withdrew all inquiry for the unfortunate; he trembled at the thought of discovering him, of verifying his awful suspicions, of beholding a murderer in the brother of his wife! But he was not doomed long to entertain fear for Cesarini; he was not fated ever to change suspicion into certainty. A few days after Lord Vargrave's burial, a corpse was drawn from the Seine.
Some tablets in the pockets, scrawled over with wild, incoherent verses, gave a clew to the discovery of the dead man's friends: and, exposed at the Morgue, in that bleached and altered clay, De Montaigne recognized the remains of Castruccio Cesarini. "He died and made no sign!" SINGULA quaeque locum teneant sortita.* HORACE: Ars Poetica. * "To each lot its appropriate place."
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