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Updated: June 24, 2025
"That's a comfort," said Newman, placidly. "I like people to know about me." A few days after this, one dusky autumn afternoon, he went again to the Rue de l'Universite. The early evening had closed in as he applied for admittance at the stoutly guarded Hotel de Bellegarde.
This conversation took place in the evening, and half an hour later Valentin ushered his companion into an apartment of the house of the Rue de l'Universite into which he had not yet penetrated, the salon of the dowager Marquise de Bellegarde.
I hid at they came near, and saw her pass on her father's arm, chatting in low tones, full of joy to have escaped from the Rue de l'Universite. She was looking before her with wide-open eyes. M. Charnot kept his eyes on his daughter, more interested in her than in all the wealth of spring.
He wrote the following letter, to which he gave all the appearances of a letter sent from London: "MY DEAR PAQUITA, I shall not try to paint to you in words the passion with which you have inspired me. If, to my happiness, you reciprocate it, understand that I have found a means of corresponding with you. My name is Adolphe de Gouges, and I live at No. 54 Rue de l'Universite.
I should say that you are so much above him that he ought to creep to you on his knees from the rue de l'Université to this garden, thanking God that you were here at the journey's end, and kissing the ground that he dragged himself over for sheer joy and gratitude. I should tell them Oh, I have no words! I could tell them so pitifully little of you!
I will simply add an account of the humiliation to which this haughty cynic was reduced. He hired a house in the Rue de l'Universite with a partition wall between his garden and that of the Jacobins of the Faubourg Saint-Germain.
I hid at they came near, and saw her pass on her father's arm, chatting in low tones, full of joy to have escaped from the Rue de l'Universite. She was looking before her with wide-open eyes. M. Charnot kept his eyes on his daughter, more interested in her than in all the wealth of spring.
We have seen her going through that period of illusions, so well called the Golden Age of the Revolution, receiving in her drawing-room in the rue de l'Universite the flower of the liberal nobility and leaders of the Constituent Assembly, then suddenly passing from the Golden to the Iron Age, shuddering at the dangers to which war, and above all the Terror exposed her husband, the general in chief of the Army of the Rhine, the leader of the democracy, rewarded for his patriotism and his devotion to the Republic by the scaffold.
Now, when he hands me a deed, instead of saying "All right," as I used to, I say, "Take a chair, Monsieur Jupille"; I shut the door, and we talk. The clerks think we're talking law, but the clerks are mistaken. Yesterday, for instance, he whispered to me: "I have come down the Rue de l'Universite. They will soon be back." "How did you learn that?"
Miss Benham stood at one of the long drawing-room windows of the house in the rue de l'Université, and looked out between the curtains upon the rather grimy little garden, where a few not very prosperous cypresses and chestnuts stood guard over the rows of lilac shrubs and the box-bordered flower-beds and the usual moss-stained fountain.
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