If so, that reflection must have been her sufficient punishment.
For, as Andre-Louis so truly says, there is no worse hell than that
provided by the regrets for wasted opportunities.
Meanwhile the fiercely sought Andre-Louis Moreau had gone to earth
completely for the present. And the brisk police of Paris, urged
on by the King's Lieutenant from Rennes, hunted for him in vain.
Yet he might have been found in a house in the Rue du Hasard within
a stone's throw of the Palais Royal, whither purest chance had
conducted him.
That which in his letter to Le Chapelier he represents as a
contingency of the near future was, in fact, the case in which
already he found himself. He was destitute. His money was
exhausted, including that procured by the sale of such articles of
adornment as were not of absolute necessity.
So desperate was his case that strolling one gusty April morning
down the Rue du Hasard with his nose in the wind looking for what
might be picked up, he stopped to read a notice outside the door
of a house on the left side of the street as you approach the Rue
de Richelieu.
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