File No. 113 quotes

The fact was, that Paris had just been startled by several financial crashes. The thirst for speculation caused the oldest and most reliable houses to totter. Men of the most unimpeachable honor had to sacrifice their pride, and go from door to door imploring aid.

Credit, that rare bird of security and peace, rested with none, but stood with upraised wings, ready to fly off at the first rumor of suspicion.

Therefore this idea of a comedy arranged beforehand between the banker and his cashier might readily occur to the minds of people who, if not suspicious, were at least aware of all the expedients resorted to by speculators in order to gain time, which with …

So often have his previsions been deceived, that he has reached a state of complete scepticism. He believes in nothing, neither in evil nor in absolute good; not more in virtue than in vice.

His experience has forced him to come to the sad conclusion that not men, but events, are worth considering.

The commissary sent for by M. Fauvel soon made his appearance.

it is a point to start from. So prompt was he in building a plan upon the slightest incident that he thought he saw in the past of these people, who were utter strangers to him, glimpses of a domestic drama.

If the commissary of police is a sceptic, the detective has faith; he believes in evil.

“I understand the case now,” said he to himself. “This man loves the young lady, who is really very pretty; and, as he is quite handsome, I suppose his love is reciprocated.

I know what love is. Once I was beloved by an affectionate, truehearted man; and my own sufferings of the last year make me know how miserable I must have made him by my cold return.

Alas! we must suffer ourselves before we can feel for others.

No, I am nothing to Prosper; he would not care if—”

“

There are some people who must be saved without warning, and against their will.

I know Prosper: he is just the man to let himself be murdered without a struggle, without speaking a word—to give himself up through sheer recklessness and despair.”

Yes, he believed himself to be alone.

He was ignorant that a prison is made of glass, that the accused is like a miserable insect under the microscope of an entomologist.

He knew not that the walls have stretched ears and watchful eyes.

For he did not attempt to deceive himself.

He knew that, guilty or innocent, a man once suspected is as ineffaceably branded as the shoulder of a galley-slave.

Therefore what was the use of struggling? What benefit was a triumph which could not wash out the stain?

It was in broken tones that Prosper answered these last questions.

There are moments in the life of a man when home memories encourage and console him; there are also moments when he would be thankful to be without a single tie, and bitterly regrets that he is not alone in the world.

M. Patrigent observed the prisoner’s emotion, when he spoke of his parents.

Prosper’s astonishment at seeing his father was instantly succeeded by a feeling of great joy.

A father is one friend upon whom we can always rely.

In the hour of need, when all else fails, we remember this man upon whose knees we sat when children, and who soothed our sorrows; and although he can in no way assist us, his presence alone comforts and strengthens.

I saw silk curtains hanging before every window and door, and the walls covered with pictures. In my father’s house the walls were whitewashed; and there was but one armchair in the whole house, and that was my mother’s.

Our luxury was our honesty.

You are the first member of our family who has possessed Aubusson carpets; though, to be sure, you are the first thief of our blood.”

“Yes, I see, you are going to descant upon the probity of M. André Fauvel. You will tell me that all the virtues have taken refuge in the bosom of this patriarchal family. What do you know about it?

Would this be the first instance in which the most shameful secrets are concealed beneath the fairest appearances?

Why did Madeleine suddenly forbid me to think of her? Why has she exiled me, when she suffers as much from our separation as I myself, when she still loves me? For she does love me. I am sure of it.

“Exactly the argument I expected you to use. You showed your shrewdness precisely by staying to face the storm, instead of flying the country. Several recent suits have taught dishonest cashiers that flight abroad is dangerous.

Railways travel fast, but telegrams travel faster.

A French thief can be arrested in London within forty-eight hours after his description has been telegraphed. Even America is no longer a refuge. You remained prudently and wisely, saying to yourself, ‘I will manage to avoid suspicion;

Mme. Alexandre was a trader without a license in perfumery and toilet articles, and, finding it necessary to watch some of her suspicious customers, engaged Fanferlot’s services; this was the origin of their acquaintance.

If they went through the marriage ceremony for the good of the mayoralty and the church, it was because they imagined it would, like a baptism, wash out the sins of the past.

Upon this momentous day, Fanferlot gave up his secret intelligence office, and entered the police, where he had already been occasionally employed, and Mme. Alexandre retired from trade.

“You would say this man ought to be punished, and dismissed from his employment; and you are right.

The less a profession is honored, the more honorable should those be who belong to it.

And yet you have been false to yours. Ah! Master Fanferlot, we are ambitious, and we try to make the police force serve our own views! We let Justice stray her way, and we go ours.

“Very poorly disguised; it is only just to you that I should let you know what a failure it was, Fanferlot. Do you think that a heavy beard and a blouse are a sufficient transformation?

The eye is the thing to be changed⁠—the eye! The art lies in being able to change the eye. That is the secret.

”

No. That shows that, although you are incomparable as a lieutenant, you do not possess the qualities of a general. I am going to present you with an aphorism; remember it, and let it be your guide in the future:

A man can shine in the second rank, who would be totally eclipsed in the first.

”

As to acknowledging that he was about to obtain a triumph with the ideas of another man, he never thought of it.

It is generally in perfect good faith that the jackdaw struts in the peacock’s feathers.

His hopes were not deceived. If the judge was not absolutely and fully convinced, he admired the ingenuity and shrewdness of the whole proceeding, and complimented the proud jackdaw upon his brilliancy.

A decision of “Not proven” had left him covered with suspicion.

The torments inflicted by public opinion are more fearful than those suffered in a prison cell.

At the moment of his restoration to liberty, Prosper so cruelly suffered from the horror of his situation, that he could not repress a cry of rage and despair.

“But the bank did, fortunately. When we undertake an affair we must anticipate everything, and forget nothing.

It is a poor excuse for a man to say, ‘I did not think of it’ when he commits some oversight.

I thought of the bank.”

“But the bank did, fortunately.

When we undertake an affair we must anticipate everything, and forget nothing.

It is a poor excuse for a man to say, ‘I did not think of it’ when he commits some oversight. I thought of the bank.”

At this name Prosper did not protest, as he had done the night previous.

Like those imperceptible insects which, having once penetrated the root of a tree, devour it in a single night, suspicion, when it invades our mind, soon develops itself, and destroys our firmest beliefs.

The visit of Lagors, and Gypsy’s torn letter, had filled Prosper with suspicions which had grown stronger and more settled as time passed.

He stopped, overcome by his violent emotions.

Wounded vanity is the worst of miseries.

The certainty of having been so shamefully deceived and betrayed made Prosper almost insane with rage.

“It makes a great difference to me. I have sworn to prove your innocence. A man of your age can easily find a wife, but can never restore lustre to a tarnished name. Let nothing interfere with the establishing of your innocence.”

Genuine passion is uninfluenced by surrounding circumstances.

M. Verduret and Prosper stood foot-deep in mud, wet to the skin, the rain pouring down on their heads, and yet seemed in no hurry to end their dispute.

“Wait.

Vengeance is a delicious fruit, that must ripen in order that we may fully enjoy it.

”

“

It is precisely against appearances that we must be on our guard. Always distrust them.

A suspicion, false or just, is always based on something. But we must not stay here forever; and, as Raoul has fastened the gate, we shall have to climb back again.”

“What can this mean?” he murmured. “Why was he so frightened? What terrible memory have I awakened in his base soul? I need not boast of my penetration, or the subtlety of my plans.

There is a great master, who, without any effort, in an instant destroys all my chimeras; he is called ‘Chance.’

”

The marquis was an eccentric old man.

He belonged to the race of nobles, now almost extinct, whose watches stopped in 1789, and who kept time with the past century.

More attached to his illusions than to his life, the old marquis insisted upon considering all the stirring events which had happened since the first revolution as a series of deplorable practical jokes.

And this year of charming, dangerous reveries decided their fate. To the sweetness of the first impression succeeded a more tender sentiment; then came love, each having endowed the other with superhuman qualities and ideal perfections.

Deep, sincere passion can only expand in solitude; in the impure air of a city it fades and dies, like the hardy plants which lose their color and perfume when transplanted to hothouses.

Gaston and Valentine had only seen each other once, but seeing was to love; and, as the time passed, their love grew stronger, until at last the fatality which had presided over their first meeting brought them once more together.

She was not surprised or indignant.

Genuine innocence displays none of the startled modesty assumed by conventional innocence.

It never occurred to Valentine that she ought to bid Gaston to leave her.

Is not every sincere passion thus?

Passion subsists upon itself and in itself; and the very things which ought to extinguish it, absence and obstacles, only make it burn more fiercely.

It is exclusive and undisturbed; reflects neither of the past nor of the future; excepting the present, it sees and cares for nothing.

Gaston had never confided to anyone, not even to his brother Louis. They never breathed each other’s name. They denied themselves a last sweet word, a last kiss, when they felt it would be more safe.

Poor blind lovers! As if anything could be concealed from the idle curiosity of country gossips; from the slanderous and ever-watchful enemies who are incessantly on the lookout for some new bit of tittle-tattle, good or bad, which they improve upon, and eagerly spread far and near.

They believed their secret well kept, whereas it had long since been made public; the story of their love, the particulars of their rendezvous, were topics of conversation throughout the neighborhood.

He had killed a man, and still convulsively held the murderous instrument; he cast it from him with horror.

He tried to account for the dreadful circumstances which had just taken place; as if it were of any importance to a man lying at the bottom of an abyss to know which stone had slipped, and precipitated him from the summit.

Still, if he alone had been ruined! But Valentine was dragged down with him: she was disgraced yet more than himself; her reputation was gone.

but have I not deserved it? Oh, my only friend, we have been revelling in a dream too beautiful to last! I have long dreaded this awakening. Like two weak, credulous fools we imagined that happiness could exist beyond the pale of duty.

Sooner or later stolen joys must be dearly paid for. After the sweet comes the bitter; we must bow our heads, and drink the cup to the dregs.

”

“

I suppose you would have pardoned the fault, had it enriched us.

”

Formerly the memory of Gaston had been her guiding star: now this far-off memory was nothing but a faint mist—a sort of vanishing dream.

In romance we meet with heroines of lifelong constancy: real life produces no such miracles.

For a long time Valentine’s mind had been filled with the image of Gaston. As the hero of her dreams she dwelt fondly on his memory;

The countess saw all these struggles, but was not made uneasy by them.

She knew by experience that, when a painful duty is put off, it is never performed.

There was some excuse for Valentine in the horror of her situation. Perhaps, unknown to herself, she felt a faint hope arise within her.

Poor, deluded woman!

Misfortune is a visitor who sometimes delays his visits, but always comes in the end.

Yes, he was going to Paris, the promised land, the city of wonders, where every Aladdin finds a lamp.

There all ambitions are crowned, all dreams realized, all passions, all desires, good and evil, can be satisfied.

There the fast-fleeting days are followed by nights of ever-varied pleasure and excitement. In twenty theatres tragedy weeps, or comedy laughs;

He was mortified to discover his error. To his great surprise he discovered that he possessed nothing which constituted a position in this immense city.

He found that in the midst of this busy, indifferent crowd, he was lost, as unnoticed as a drop of water in a torrent.

But this unflattering reality could not discourage a man who was determined to gratify his passion at all costs. His ancestral name gained him but one privilege, disastrous for his future: it opened to him the doors of the Faubourg St. Germain.

This is one of the errors which it is time to destroy.

Fortune is not to be wasted upon idle fools.

In this furious race of self-interest, it requires great skill to bestride the capricious mare called Opportunity, and make her lead to the end in view. Every winner must possess a strong will and a dexterous hand.

Valentine herself would never have recognized this poor, shrivelled, emaciated old woman.

Only those who are familiar with country life know what hard work and worry can do to make a woman old.

The bargain, meanwhile, was being discussed between Joseph and Fougeroux, who offered a ridiculously small sum for the château, saying that he would only buy it to tear down, and sell the materials.

Ah! she had hoped and believed that the fatal past was atoned for, and buried in oblivion; and now it stood before her, pitiless and threatening.

Poor woman! As if all human will could prevent what was fated to be!

It was in this hour of security, when she imagined herself pardoned, that the storm was to burst upon the fragile edifice of her happiness, and destroy her every hope.

What were her twenty years of happiness compared to this hour of misery? A bitter remorse; nothing more. Ah, why did she listen to her mother? Why had she committed moral suicide?

Hope had fled; despair had come.

This man who had left her presence with a threat upon his lips would return to torture her now. How could she escape him?

“Only yesterday I discovered that my uncle had been to demand for me a few crumbs of your wealth. Why did he take such a step? I am poor, it is true, very poor; but I am too familiar with poverty to bemoan it.

I have a clear brain and willing hands: that is fortune enough for a young man.

You are very rich. What is that to me? Keep all your fortune, my beloved mother; but do not repel my affection; let me love you. Promise me that this first kiss shall not be the last.

She thought her husband silly, and even vulgar, when he joked her upon letting her poor children starve to death, while she was promenading the boulevards.

So strange are the sudden effects of a new passion, that she regarded almost with contempt this unbounded confidence reposed in her.

She replied to his jest with a forced calmness, as if her mind were really as free and undisturbed as it had been before Clameran’s visit.

Her folly was complete. No remorse for the past, no apprehensions for the future, disturbed the satisfied present.

To her the future was tomorrow; eternity was the sixteen hours which must elapse before another interview.

She seemed to think that Gaston’s death absolved the past, and changed the present.

The hardest thing of all to do, the act that most wrung her heart, was showing to her husband the forged letter from St. Remy, and saying that she expected to see her rich young nephew in a day or two.

’Tis hard to deceive those who trust and love us.

But words cannot paint the torture she endured on the evening that she introduced Raoul to her family, and saw the honest banker cordially shake hands with this nephew of whom he had never heard before, and affectionately say to him:

If his early education had been neglected, and he lacked those delicate refinements of manner and conversation which home influence imparts, his superior tact concealed these defects.

He possessed the happy faculty of reading characters, and adapting his conversation to the minds of his listeners.

Before a week had gone by, he was a favorite with M. Fauvel, intimate with Abel and Lucien, and inseparable from Prosper Bertomy, the cashier, who spent all his evenings with the banker’s family.

As a general thing, a first fault draws many others in its train.

As an impalpable flake is the beginning of an avalanche, so an imprudence is often the prelude to a great crime.

To false situations there is but one safe issue: truth.

As a general thing, a first fault draws many others in its train. As an impalpable flake is the beginning of an avalanche, so an imprudence is often the prelude to a great crime.

To false situations there is but one safe issue: truth.

Mme. Fauvel’s resistance grew weaker and more faint, as her niece pointed out the line for her to pursue: the path of wifely duty.

When he tearfully promises to be more prudent, and never again give me trouble, he means to keep his word; but perfidious friends entice him away, and he commits some piece of folly without thinking of the consequences.”

Mothers always blame themselves and everyone else for the sins of their sons.

The innocent friends come in for the principal share of censure, each mother’s son leading the other astray.

“We had better end the matter at once, dear aunt,” she said, in a gentle, but firm tone. “

Believe me, the reality of misfortune is not as painful as its apprehension.

You cannot bear the shocks of sorrow, and delusive hopes of happiness, much longer. Do you know what anxiety of mind has done to you? Have you looked in the mirror during the last four months?”

Mme. Fauvel was indeed a mere shadow of her former self.

She had reached the perfidious age when a woman’s beauty, like a full-blown rose, fades in a day.

Four months of trouble had made her an old woman. Sorrow had stamped its fatal seal upon her brow. Her fair, soft skin was wrinkled, her golden hair was streaked with silver, and her large, soft eyes had a painfully frightened look.

He set to work with a greedy activity, which increased each day. He tried all the many speculations open to adventurers. Alternately he traded in furs, worked in a mine, and cultivated lands.

Five times he went to bed rich, and waked up ruined; five times, with the patience of the castor, whose hut is swept away by each returning tide, he recommenced the foundation of his fortune.

Finally, after long weary years of toil and struggle, he was worth a million in gold, besides immense tracts of land.

On a bright, crisp day in January, 1866, he once again stepped on French soil. With a sad heart, he stood upon the quays at Bordeaux, and compared the past with the present.

He had departed a young man, ambitious, hopeful, and beloved; he returned gray-haired, disappointed, trusting no one.

Gold could not supply the place of affection. He had said that riches would bring happiness: his wealth was immense, and he was miserable.

He had departed a young man, ambitious, hopeful, and beloved; he returned gray-haired, disappointed, trusting no one.

Gold could not supply the place of affection.

He had said that riches would bring happiness: his wealth was immense, and he was miserable.

It would so add to my happiness to see you the husband of a good, affectionate woman, the father of bright, lovely children! It would be a comfort to have a happy family about me. I should look upon them all as my own.

To live alone, without a loving wife to share one’s joys and sorrows, is not living at all: it is a sort of living death.

There is no joy equal to having the affection of a true woman whose happiness is in your keeping. Oh the sadness of having only one’s self to care for! But what am I saying? Louis, forgive me.

“Well, it is of no use to mourn over the past.

All the memories in the world, good or bad, are not worth one slender hope for the future; and thank God, we have a bright future before us.

Let us bury the past, and enjoy life together.”

“

However, it is just as well; it is in the heart that memory dwells, and not in a pile of old stones.

I myself had not the courage to return to Provence. I could not trust myself to go to Clameran, where I would have to look into the park of La Verberie. Alas, the only happy moments of my life were spent there!”

Vainly did he think over the wicked experiences of the past: none of the former successful stratagems could be resorted to in the present case.

Fatally, inevitably, he was about to be caught in a trap laid by himself.

The future was fraught with danger, worse than danger—ruin and disgrace.

“

I know I am a fool; but my folly is dear to me, and I would not cure it if I could.

”

“Because you know the axiom, ‘When the heart is interested the head is lost.’

Generals in love always lose their battles.

The day is not far off when your infatuation of Madeleine will make you sell us both for a smile. And, mark my words, she is shrewd, and watching us as only an enemy can watch.”

The old adage, “Honor among thieves,” seldom holds good after the “stroke.”

There is always a quarrel over the division of the spoils.

This distrustful Clameran foresaw a thousand difficulties and counterplots to be guarded against in his dealings with Raoul.

“Yes, you could, if you had been shrewd.

Fools sit down and wait for an opportunity; sensible men make one.

What did we agree upon in London? We were to implore my good mother to assist us a little, and, if she complied with our wishes, we were to be flattering and affectionate in our devotion to her. And what was the result?

Now, in the eyes of those women my conduct will appear more magnanimous and noble in proportion to the contempt and abuse they have heaped upon me. I gain nothing by patient devotion: I have everything to hope from a sudden change of tactics.

A well-managed stroke will transform a demon into an angel.

”

Raoul enjoyed the life he was leading, and took such an interest in the part that he was playing, that his acting was perfect.

He possessed the faculty which makes cheats successful, faith in his own impostures.

Sometimes he would stop to think whether he was telling the truth, or acting a shameful comedy.

It was impossible to distinguish the counterfeit from the genuine. He thought what was so easily imitated was not worth the having.

Dearly bought experience had taught him that our unromantic century attaches no value to armorial bearings, unless their possessor is rich enough to display them upon a splendid coach.

One can be a marquis without a marquisate, but it is impossible to be a forge-master without owning ironworks.

Dearly bought experience had taught him that our unromantic century attaches no value to armorial bearings, unless their possessor is rich enough to display them upon a splendid coach.

One can be a marquis without a marquisate, but it is impossible to be a forge-master without owning ironworks.

Louis now thirsted for the homage of the world. All the badly digested humiliations of the past weighed upon him.

His past career disturbed him little.

He was sufficiently acquainted with the world to know that the noise of his coach-wheels would silence the jeers of those who knew his former life.

These thoughts fermented in Louis’s brain as he journeyed from Pau to Paris.

Fauvel, having Madeleine for an adviser, judged us at our true value. Oh! you need not flatter yourself that she did not fear and despise us both. If she did not hate you, Raoul, it was because a mother’s heart always forgives a sinful child.

A mother can despise and worship her son at the same time.

”

“That you want to retreat? Rather too late to sing that tune, my friend. You wish to enjoy every luxury, have your pockets filled with gold, cut a fine figure in high society, and remain virtuous.

Are you fool enough to suppose a poor man can be honest? ’Tis a luxury pertaining to the wealthy.

Did you ever see people such as we draw money from the pure fount of virtue? We must fish in muddy waters, and then wash ourselves clean, and enjoy the result of our labor.”

Are you fool enough to suppose a poor man can be honest? ’Tis a luxury pertaining to the wealthy. Did you ever see people such as we draw money from the pure fount of virtue?

We must fish in muddy waters, and then wash ourselves clean, and enjoy the result of our labor.

”

“An opportunity occurs for us to make an immense fortune. All we have to do is to stretch out our hands and take it; when you must needs prove refractory, like a whimpering baby.

Nobody but an ass would refuse to drink when he is thirsty, because he sees a little mud at the bottom of the bucket.

I suppose you prefer theft on a small scale, stealing by driblets. And where will your system lead you? To the poorhouse or the police-station. You prefer living from hand to mouth, supported by Mme.

He was young in sin.

Vice had not yet penetrated to his marrowbones: corruption had not yet crowded into his soul enough to uproot and destroy every generous sentiment.

It had not been so very long since he had cherished a few holy beliefs. The good intentions of his boyhood were not quite obliterated from his sometimes reproachful memory.

Possessing the daring courage natural to youth, he despised the cowardly part forced upon him; this dark plot, laid for the destruction of two helpless women, filled him with horror and disgust.

His heart revolted at the idea of acting the part of Judas toward his mother to betray her between two kisses.

Disgusted by the cool villainy of Louis, he longed for some unexpected danger to spring up, some great peril to be braved, so as to excuse himself in his own eyes, to give him the spirit to carry through the scheme;

Urged by Louis, he drank two bottles of wine, in hopes that intoxication would inspire him with courage to do the deed, which Clameran impressed upon his mind must and should be done before many more hours had passed over his head.

But the drunkenness he sought came not; the wine proved false; at the bottom of the last bottle he found disgust and rage.

“The time has come,” said Louis firmly.

What she could do tomorrow she knew not, she did not even ask herself.

But in extreme situations the least delay inspires hope, as if a short respite meant sure salvation.

The condemned man, at the last moment, begs for a reprieve of a day, an hour, a few seconds. Raoul was about to kill himself: his mother prayed to God to grant her one day, not even a day, one night;

But Clameran was not one of those slow-minded men who take weeks to consider a difficulty.

When he could not untie a knot, he would cut it.

Raoul was a stumbling-block to his wishes, and he swore to rid himself of his troublesome accomplice as soon as possible.

The more certain he was of Madeleine’s contempt and dislike, the more determined he was to marry her.

His love seemed to be a sort of insane desire to possess and call his own the one being whom he recognized as his superior in every way.

But he had sense enough to see that he might ruin his prospects by undue haste, and that the safest course would be to await the result of the robbery and its effect upon Prosper.

The accomplices were at that time on very bad terms. Clameran was seeking a safe means of getting rid of Raoul; and the young scamp, having a presentiment of his uncle’s intentions, was determined to outwit him.

Nothing but the certainty of impending danger could reconcile them.

The danger was revealed to them both at the Jandidier ball.

You think the horrors of the police-court are the only ones. Pooh! You only read in the Gazette des Tribunaux of the cruel melodramas of life, where the actors are as cowardly as the knife, and as treacherous as the poison they use.

It is at the family fireside, often under shelter of the law itself, that the real tragedies of life are acted; in modern crimes the traitors wear gloves, and cloak themselves with public position; the victims die, smiling to the last, without revealing the torture they have endured to the end.

Why, what I have just related to you is an everyday occurrence; and you profess astonishment.”

“

Here you are, drowning; an honest man springs into the water to save you, and just as he approaches the shore you entangle his feet to prevent him from swimming!

What was my last order to you when I left here?”

This is all very well in theory, but is difficult to practise when the anonymous letter comes. You throw it in the fire, it burns; but, although the paper is destroyed by the flames, doubt remains.

Suspicion arises from its ashes, like a subtle poison penetrates the inmost recesses of the mind, weakens its holiest beliefs, and destroys its faith.

The trail of the serpent is left.

In a short time he would know the truth.

His uncertainty was so torturing to the unhappy man that he preferred the most dreadful reality to his present agony.

Breakfast over, he lighted a cigar, but did not remain in the dining-room to smoke it, as was his habit. He went into his study to try and compose his nerves.

Not only did he suffer in the present, but the uncertainty of the past tortured his soul.

He was like a man who is told that the exquisite wine he has drank contains poison.

Confidence is never halfway: it is, or it is not. His confidence was gone. His faith was dead.

He was like a man who is told that the exquisite wine he has drank contains poison.

Confidence is never halfway: it is, or it is not.

His confidence was gone. His faith was dead.