Agatha was seated, or rather was crouching, on a sofa in the corner, for Adolphe Denot was standing over her uttering threats and words of love alternately, the latter of which, however, sounded by far the most horrible in poor Agatha's ears.
"Give me a pen and paper," said Santerre, and having got them, he continued writing for a minute or two.

"Now, my old friend," said he, addressing the Marquis, "I am given to understand that you yourself, personally, have never lent a hand to this iniquitous revolt.

Is it so ?" "I am too old and too infirm to carry a sword," said the Marquis, "but what little I could do for my King, I--." "Exactly--exactly," said Santerre, interrupting him, "you are a cripple I see.

There is no evidence wanting to show that you haven't taken up arms.

It is this pestilent son of yours has brought you into trouble." "He would have been no son of mine had he not acted as he has done," said the old man indignantly.
"Will you hold your silly tongue, my friend," said Santerre.