We can now go and live in some hovel in the old quarter." This last phrase had a most lugubrious sound.

It seemed like the knell of their existence.

Pierre pictured the hovel in the old quarter, which had just been mentioned by Felicite.

'Twas there, then, that he would die on a pallet, after striving all his life for the enjoyment of ease and luxury.

In vain had he robbed his mother, steeped his hands in the foulest intrigues, and lied and lied for many a long year.