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Updated: May 4, 2025
She corroborated Wimp's statements as to Constant's occasional visits, and narrated how the girl had been enlisted by the dead philanthropist as a collaborator in some of his enterprises. But the most telling portion of her evidence was the story of how, late at night, on December 3rd, the prisoner called upon her and inquired wildly about the whereabouts of his sweetheart.
"Whenever the prisoner was away for the night I searched his room. I found the key of Mr. Constant's bedroom buried deeply in the side of prisoner's leather sofa. I found what I imagine to be the letter he received on December 3rd, in the pages of a 'Bradshaw' lying under the same sofa. There were two razors about." Mr. SPIGOT, Q.C., said: "The key has already been identified by Mrs. Drabdump.
'And even in the forest I could not breathe more freely. I stared up absently at Benjamin Constant's blue ceiling, meretricious and still adorable, expressive of the delicious decadence of Paris, and my eyes moistened because the world is so beautiful in such various ways. Then the door of the baignoire opened. It was Diaz himself who appeared.
There is Constant's account, also written from that point of view in which it is proverbial that no man is a hero. But of all the vivid terrible pictures of Napoleon the most haunting is by a man who never saw him and whose book was not directly dealing with him. I mean Taine's account of him, in the first volume of "Les Origines de la France Contemporaine."
I like Constant's wit, Schlegel's learning, Sabran's amiability, Sismondi's talent and character, the simple truthful disposition and just intellectual perceptions of Auguste, the wit and sweetness of Albertine I was forgetting Bonstetten, an excellent fellow, full of knowledge of all sorts, ready in wit, adaptable in character in every way inspiring one's respect and confidence.
At Constant's?" He muttered, "No, my lord," and looked confused. This roused my curiosity. "Where, then?" I said sharply. "Of a man who was at the gate yesterday." "Oh!" I said. "Selling tennis balls?" "Yes, my lord." "Some rogue of a marker," I exclaimed, "from whom you bought filched goods! Who was it, man?" "I don't know his name," La Trape answered. "He was a Spaniard." "Well?"
Let us part calmly, without a fuss, like decent people. "Have you had a fault to find with my conduct during the past six years?" "None, but that you have spoiled my life, and wrecked my prospects," said he in a hard tone. "You have read Benjamin Constant's book very diligently; you have even studied the last critique on it; but you have read with a woman's eyes.
"In consequence of suspicions that had formed in your mind you took up your quarters, disguised, in the late Mr. Constant's rooms?" "I did; at the commencement of the year. My suspicions had gradually gathered against the occupants of No. 11 Glover Street, and I resolved to quash or confirm these suspicions once for all." "Will you tell the jury what followed?"
He danced at Constant's at Montparnasse; bought for two sous to sell for four at the door of Bobino, the jack of hearts or the ace of clubs serving as a countermark; sometimes opened the door of a carriage; led horses to the horse-market. From the lottery of all sorts of miserable employments he drew a goodly number.
Finally, there were numerous witnesses of all sorts and conditions to the prisoner's high character, as well as to Arthur Constant's blameless and moral life. In his closing speech on the third day of the trial, Sir CHARLES pointed out with great exhaustiveness and cogency the flimsiness of the case for the prosecution, the number of hypotheses it involved, and their mutual interdependence. Mrs.
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