For centuries the people of France have writhed beneath the armed heel of the nobility, and their blood, unjustly and wantonly shed, has saturated the soil until from that seed has sprung this overwhelming retribution.
Now--now, when it is too late--you are repenting; now, when at last some twenty-five million Frenchmen have risen with weapons in their hands to purge the nation of you.

We are no worse than were you; indeed, not so bad.

It is only that we do in a little while--and, therefore, while it lasts in greater quantity--what you have been doing through countless generations." "Spare me these arguments, Monsieur," she cried, recovering her spirit.
"The 'whys' and 'wherefores' of it are nothing to me.

I see what you are doing, and that is enough.

But," and her voice grew gentle and pleading, her hands were held out to him, "you are good at heart, Monsieur; you are generous and you can be noble.