"To-morrow, my son, is the day of battle. We shall fight hard. I am old--you are young. The angel of death will doubtless carry me hence first; perhaps to-morrow I shall meet in the other life my sainted daughter Hena. Here, now, is what I ask of you, in the face of the misfortunes which menace our country, for to-morrow the fortunes of war may go with the Romans. My desire is that as long as our stock shall last, the love of old Gaul and sacred memories of our fathers shall be ever kept fresh in our family. If our children should remain free men, the love of country, the reverence for the memory of their ancestors, will all the more endear their liberty to them. If they must live and die slaves, these holy memories will remind them, from generation to generation, that there was a time when, faithful to their gods, valiant in war, independent and happy, masters of the soil which they had won from nature by severe toil, careless of death, whose secret they held, the Gallic race lived, feared by the whole world, yet withal hospitable to peoples who extended to them a friendly hand. These memories, kept alive from age to age, will make slavery more horrible to our children, and some day give them the strength to overthrow it. In order that these memories may be thus transmitted from century to century, you must promise by Hesus, my son, to be faithful to our old Gallic custom. You must tenderly guard this collection of relics which I am going to entrust you with; you must add to it; you must make your son Sylvest swear to increase it in his turn, so that the children of your grandchildren may imitate their fore-fathers, and may themselves be imitated by their posterity. Here is the collection. The first roll contains the story of all that has chanced to our family up to the anniversary of my dear Hena's birthday, that day which also saw her die. This other roll I received this evening about sunset from my son Albinik the mariner. It contains the story of his journey across the burnt territory, to the camp of Caesar. This account throws honor on the courage of the Gaul, it throws honor on your brother and his wife, faithful as they were, almost excessively so, to that maxim of our fathers: 'Never did Breton commit treason.' These writings I confide to you. You will return them to me after to-morrow's conflict if I survive. If not, do you preserve them, or in lack of you, your brothers. Do you inscribe the principal events of your life and your family's; hand the account over to your son, that he may do as you, and thus on, forever--generation after generation. Do you swear to me, by Hesus, to respect my wishes?" I, Guilhern the laborer, answered: "I swear to my father Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, that I will faithfully carry out his desires."