'In the first place，I won't have any kings；if it were only from an economical point of view，I don't want any；a king is a parasite.
One does not have kings gratis.
Listen to this：the dearness of kings.
At the death of Francois I.，the national debt of France amounted to an income of thirty thousand livres；at the death of Louis XIV.
it was two milliards，six hundred millions，at twenty-eight livres the mark，which was equivalent in 1760，according to Desmarets，to four milliards，five hundred millions，which would to-day be equivalent to twelve milliards.
In the second place，and no offence to Combeferre，a charter granted is but a poor expedient of civilization.
To save the transition，to soften the passage，to deaden the shock，to cause the nation to pass insensibly from the monarchy to democracy by the practice of constitutional fictions，——what detestable reasons all those are！No！no！let us never enlighten the people with false daylight.Principles dwindle and pale in your constitutional cellar.No illegitimacy，no compromise，no grant from the king to the people.In all such grants there is an Article 14.
By the side of the hand which gives there is the claw which snatches back.
I refuse your charter point-blank.A charter is a mask；the lie lurks beneath it.A people which accepts a charter abdicates.
The law is only the law when entire.
No！no charter！
It was winter；a couple of fagots were crackling in the fireplace.This was tempting，and Courfeyrac could not resist.
He crumpled the poor Touquet Charter in his fist，and flung it in the fire.The paper flashed up.
Combeferre watched the masterpiece of Louis XVIII.burn philosophically，and contented himself with saying：——
'The charter metamorphosed into flame.'
And sarcasms，sallies，jests，that French thing which is called entrain，and that English thing which is called humor，good and bad taste，good and bad reasons，all the wild pyrotechnics of dialogue，mounting together and crossing from all points of the room，produced a sort of merry bombardment over their heads.