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Updated: June 8, 2025
I had formed an opinion by no means favourable to the innocence of Mr. Jean Desmarais; and I took especial care that the Necessitarian, who would only have thought robbery and murder pieces of ill-luck, should undergo a most rigorous examination. I remembered that he had seen me put the packet into the escritoire; and this circumstance was alone sufficient to arouse my suspicion.
"Exactly so," said Desmarais; "all his arguments go to swell the sails of the great philosophical truth, 'Necessity! We are the things and toys of Fate, and its everlasting chain compels even the Power that creates as well as the things created." "Ha!" said I, who, though little versed at that time in these metaphysical subtleties, had heard St.
If you are a bad man, you are an unfortunate one; but you are not to be execrated for what you could not prevent."* * Whatever pretensions Monsieur Desmarais may have had to originality, this tissue of opinions is as old as philosophy itself.
I found that he was already gone; on leaving the hall he had remounted his horse and taken his departure. One servant, however, had seen him, as he passed the front court, address a few words to my valet, Desmarais, who happened to be loitering there. I summoned Desmarais and questioned him.
No one had perceived their entrance or exit, except Desmarais, who stated that he heard a cry; that he, having spent the greater part of the night abroad, had not been in bed above an hour before he heard it; that he rose and hurried towards my room, whence the cry came; that he met two men masked on the stairs; that he seized one, who struck him in the breast with a poniard, dashed him to the ground, and escaped; that he then immediately alarmed the house, and, the servants accompanying him, he proceeded, despite his wound, to my apartment, where he found Isora and myself bleeding and lifeless, with the escritoire broken open.
"Ah, some long romance, the 'Clelia, I suppose, nay, bring it hither; that is to say, if it be movable by the strength of a single man." Thus urged, Desmarais modestly brought me the book.
Some accidental and frivolous remark of yours which I had repeated in my correspondence with Montreuil as illustrative of your manner, and your affected pursuits at that time, presented an opportunity to a plan before conceived. Desmarais came to England in a smuggler's vessel, presented himself to you as a servant, and was accepted.
The exquisite Desmarais hemmed thrice, "Will Monsieur be so very kind as to excuse my accompanying him?" said he, with his usual air and tone of obsequious respect. "And why?" The valet explained. A relation of his was in England only for a few days: the philosopher was most anxious to enjoy his society, a pleasure which fate might not again allow him.
"Pardon me, Monsieur," answered Desmarais, bowing to the ground: "one ought to get drunk sometimes, because the next morning one is sure to be thoughtful; and, moreover, the practical philosopher ought to indulge every emotion, in order to judge how that emotion would affect another; at least, this is my opinion." "Well, go."
It seems that Montreuil's abrupt appearance in the hall had been caused by Desmarais, who had recognized Oswald, on his dismounting at the gate, and had previously known that he was in the employment of the Jansenistical /intriguante/ Madame de Balzac.
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