Karvel—"What is your plan, brother?"
Mylio—"My sincere love for Florette has put an end to the pranks of my youth. Your own indulgence and Morise's will draw a veil over the past. Nevertheless I have put to bad use the faculty for poetry that nature endowed me with. I now desire to turn it to a useful purpose. Brother, you and I have read in the legends of our family how, at the time of the invasion of Gaul by the Romans, the Gallic bards fired the courage of our combatants, and how, still later, after the Roman conquest, the bards continued to arouse with their patriotic chants the people of Gaul against the foreign conqueror. The memorable chant of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys:
'Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!'
armed more than one arm against the Romans."
Karvel—"I grasp your thought—I approve it, Mylio—Aye, it would be putting the poetic talent that God gifted you with to a noble use, by using it to arouse the enthusiasm of our people."
Mylio—"The Church orders her monks to preach the extermination of our country. Now, we the trouveres, like the Gallic bards of old, will fire the people with our songs against the fanatics who threaten our freedom and our lives!"
Morise—"The thought is generous and noble. I join my approval to Karvel's."
Mylio—"A minute ago the Lady of Lavaur repeated twice a few words that drew tears from me: 'What wrong have we done to those priests, my poor child?'"
Florette—"Oh! Mylio, those words made me also weep. They still affect me!"
Mylio—"It is because they are true and heart-rending words that escaped from a maternal heart. What wrong was done to those priests!"