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Updated: May 26, 2025
And his third love, George Sand, after apparently reciprocating his attachment, for a few years, not only discarded him, but tried to justify her conduct to the world, by giving an exaggerated portraiture of his weaknesses, in her novel "Lucrezia Floriani."
They were confident that Floriani was right, and no one was surprised when the count returned and declared: "It was the child. Everything proves it." "You have seen the shelves and the poker?" "Yes. The shelves have been unnailed, and the poker is there yet." But the countess exclaimed: "You had better say it was his mother. Henriette is the guilty party. She must have compelled her son "
He paced up and down the room, two or three times, in a nervous manner; then, approaching Floriani, said: "Nobody has been in that room since; nothing has been changed." "Very well, monsieur, you can easily satisfy yourself that my explanation is correct." "It does not agree with the facts established by the examining judge.
And that gave the Marquis de Rouzieres, who delighted to tease the count, an opportunity to mention the affair of the Queen's Necklace, a subject that the count detested. Each one expressed his own opinion of the affair; and, of course, their various theories were not only contradictory but impossible. "And you, monsieur," said the countess to the chevalier Floriani, "what is your opinion?" "Oh!
"Two years ago, in other words, three years after the pretended death of Arsène Lupin, the police, having discovered or believing they had discovered that Arsène Lupin was really none other than one Floriani, born at Blois and since lost to sight, caused the register to be inscribed, on the page relating to this Floriani, with the word 'Deceased, followed by the words 'Under the alias of Arsène Lupin.
Unmask the man who had once robbed him? But that was a long time ago! And who would believe that absurd story about the guilty child? No; better far to accept the situation, and pretend not to comprehend the true meaning of it. So the count, turning to Floriani, exclaimed: "Your story is very curious, very entertaining; I enjoyed it much.
Sand paints him even more characteristically in her novel "Lucrezia Floriani:" "Gentle, sensitive, and very lovely, he united the charm of adolescence with the suavity of a more mature age; through the want of muscular development he retained a peculiar beauty, an exceptional physiognomy, which, if we may venture so to speak, belonged to neither age nor sex.... It was more like the ideal creations with which the poetry of the middle ages adorned the Christian temples.
I admit that you are right so far, but now....that is not all....go on....tell us the rest of it." Floriani disengaged his arm gently, and, after a moment, continued: "Well, in my opinion, this is what happened. The thief, knowing that the countess was going to wear the necklace that evening, had prepared his gangway or bridge during your absence.
Lucrezia Floriani is a cantatrice of genius, who, whilst still young, has retired from the world, indifferent to fame, and effectually disenchanted so she believes with passion.
No man could crawl through it." "Then it was not a man," declared Floriani. "What!" "If the transom is too small to admit a man, it must have been a child." "A child!" "Did you not say that your friend Henriette had a son?" "Yes; a son named Raoul." "Then, in all probability, it was Raoul who committed the theft." "What proof have you of that?" "What proof! Plenty of it....For instance "
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