Compromise, negotiate; those are my last words." The brothers stood motionless behind their cousin and watched the _berlingot_ as it turned through the iron gates and took the road to Troyes.

Laurence repeated the old man's last words.

But sage experience should not present itself to the eyes of youth in a _berlingot_, colored stockings, and a queue.

These ardent young hearts had no conception of the change that had passed over France; indignation crisped their nerves, honor boiled with their noble blood through every vein.
"He, the head of the house of Chargeboeuf!" said the Marquis de Simeuse.
"A man who bears the motto _Adsit fortior_, the noblest of warcries!" "We are no longer in the days of Saint-Louis," said the younger Simeuse.
"But 'We die singing,'" said the countess.

"The cry of the five young girls of my house is mine!" "And ours, 'Cy meurs,'" said the elder Simeuse.