Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The struggle of this writer, risen from the lower classes, had cost him the ten first years of his youth; and now in the days of his success he longed to be loved by one of the queens of the great world. Vanity, without which, as Champfort says, love would be but a feeble thing, sustained his passion and increased it day by day.
Champfort, who saw the fracas between my lord and me, about the key and the door, the night of my lady's accident, has whispered it about at Lady Singleton's and every where Mrs. Luttridge's maid, ma'am, who is my cousin, has pestered me with so many questions and offers, from Mrs. Luttridge and Mrs.
To which Champfort replied with an oath, like an unmannered reprobate as he is, and in his gibberish, French and English, which I can't speak; but the sense of it was this: 'My lord and lady shall never come together, if I can help it.
Champfort, who is conceit personified, took mortal offence at this; and the devil, who is always at hand to turn anger into malice, put it into Champfort's head to put it into my lord's head, that the world thought 'My lady governed him. My lord took fire. They say the torpedo, the coldest of cold creatures, sometimes gives out a spark I suppose when electrified with anger.
It was true that on this very occasion he gave Champfort the remainder of some mourning paper, which he made no scruple, therefore, of producing openly.
So, ma'am, when Mr. Champfort was thrown off his guard by the claret, Sir Philip's gentleman began to talk of my lord and my lady, and Miss Portman; and he observed that my lord and my lady were coming together more than they used to be since Miss Portman left the house.
"Milord, de man call to speak about de burgundy you order, milord," said Champfort, who came into the room with a sly, inquisitive face. "Tell him I'll see him immediately show him into the parlour, and give him a newspaper to read." "Yes, milord milord has it in his pocket since he dress."
From the first moment that Marriott saw or heard of the letter, she was convinced, she said, that "Mr. Champfort was at the bottom of it." Lady Delacour was equally convinced that Harriot Freke was the author of the epistle; and she supported her opinion by observing, that Champfort could neither write nor spell English. Marriott and her lady were both right.
According to this system, which, up to Thermidor 9, grows worse and worse, imprisonment becomes a torture, oftentimes mortal, slower and more painful than the guillotine, and to such an extent that, to escape it, Champfort opens his veins and Condorcet swallows poison.
A wit of the last century, Champfort, used to say, "There is nothing more dangerous than an honest man engaged in a rascally calling." There is nothing more dangerous than errors and crimes of which the perpetrators do not see the absurd and odious character.
Word Of The Day