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Trollope, Anthony, 1815-1882

"ée"

I cannot bid you to
deny your King. Death at any rate will not dishonour us. We will only
beg of this gentleman that in his mercy he will not separate us," and
putting her arm round her father's neck, she fastened her hand upon the
folds of his coat, as though determined that nothing should again
separate her from his side.
"Denounce Henri!" said the old man; "denounce my own dear, gallant son,
the most loyal of those who love their King--the bravest of the brave!
No, Sir! I give you no thanks for your mercy, if you intended any. I,
and my daughter, Sir, cannot bear arms for our King; she by reason of
her sex, and I from my infirmities; but, Sir, we can die for him; we can
die for him as readily as the bravest who falls in the first ranks of
the battle. Had I still so much power in my own house as to command a
cup of wine, I would drink my last pledge to my royal master--but it
matters not; the heart and the will are still the same," and taking off
the tasselled velvet cap which he wore, he waved it above his head,
exclaiming, "Vive le Roi! vive le Roi!"
"The accursed, pestilent old fanatic!" said Santerre, spurning the table
as he rose in his passion, and upsetting it into the middle of the room;
and then he walked up and down the salon with rapid strides, trying to
induce himself to give orders for the immediate execution of the staunch
old royalist.


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