The name "Comtesse Flore de Brambourg" made him shudder.

He foresaw some new atrocity on the part of his brother.
"That brigand," he cried, "is the devil's own.

And he calls himself a man of honor! And he wears a lot of crosses on his breast! And he struts about at court instead of being bastinadoed! And the scoundrel is called Monsieur le Comte!" "There are many like him," said Bixiou.
"After all," said Joseph, "the Rabouilleuse deserves her fate, whatever it is.

She is not worth pitying; she'd have had my neck wrung like a chicken's without so much as saying, 'He's innocent.'" Joseph flung away the letter, but Bixiou caught it in the air, and read it aloud, as follows:-- Is it decent that the Comtesse Bridau de Brambourg should die in a hospital, no matter what may have been her faults?
If such is to be my fate, if such is your determination and that of monsieur le comte, so be it; but if so, will you, who are the friend of Doctor Bianchon, ask him for a permit to let me enter a hospital?
The person who carries this letter has been eleven consecutive days to the hotel de Brambourg, rue de Clichy, without getting any help from my husband.

The poverty in which I now am prevents my employing a lawyer to make a legal demand for what is due to me, that I may die with decency.