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Updated: June 18, 2025
My broker tells me that it is probably misery which has turned his brain, poor man." "Misery! you confide diamonds to a man in poverty!" "Certainly, my lord, and I have never known an instance of an artisan concealing or secreting anything confided to him, however poor he might be." "How much for this necklace?" asked D'Harville.
During the scene which we have just described, Claire, Still in her fainting fit, was delivered to the tender care and attentions of Clemence and the sisters; one of the latter sustained her drooping head, while Lady d'Harville, leaning over the bed, wiped away with her handkerchief the cold sweat from the brow of the patient.
"The Marchioness d'Harville is more worthy than any one of the attachment of my father; this is the highest praise of her I can give you." "And you can, doubtless, appreciate her justly. Have you not known her in France, my cousin?"
Diamonds are like buildings, the value remains; and, besides, this surprise to the marchioness! It is as I had the honor to say the other day there is not in the world a happier man than your lordship." "Good M. Doublet!" said D'Harville, smiling; "his felicitations are always so inconceivably apropos"
It would be difficult to describe the tumultuous and contrary sentiments which agitated D'Harville when he found himself alone. He acknowleged with joy the falsity of the accusation against Rudolph and Clemence, but he was also convinced that he must renounce the hope of being loved by her.
Goualeuse alone regarded without fear this formidable creature. Smiling bitterly, she said, in her angelic voice, 'Oh, kill me! kill me! I desire it; but do not make me suffer much. These words, it was reported to me, were pronounced with a simplicity so touching, that almost all the prisoners had tears in their eyes." "I believe it, said Lady d'Harville, painfully affected.
"I comprehend; he loves you tenderly." "As much as I was at first touched with his gratitude, so much was I alarmed at his protestations of love. I could not conceal my alarm. I caused him a sad blow in manifesting thus my invincible repugnance to his love, I regret it. But, at least, D'Harville is now forever convinced that he has only to expect from me the most devoted friendship."
We will conduct the reader to the house in the Rue du Temple, the day of the suicide of M. d'Harville, about three o'clock in the afternoon. Pipelet, the porter, alone in the lodge, was occupied in mending a boot. The chaste porter was dejected and melancholy.
On leaving the table, they passed into the sleeping apartment of M. d'Harville, where were displayed several valuable arms. In showing some of his guests, M. d'Harville, in jest, placed a pistol, which he did not know was loaded, to his lips. In his security, he drew the trigger; it went off, and the unhappy young nobleman fell dead, with his skull fractured.
"What good fortune! perhaps we can find out something from the duchess," cried Madame d'Harville, with vivacity; then she continued, with a sigh, "But I am ignorant of the name of this woman how designate her to Madame de Lucenay?" "You must ask if she does not know a widow, still young, of distinguished appearance, whose daughter, aged sixteen or seventeen, is named Claire."
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