The count then placed his foot on his head, saying, “I know not what restrains me from crushing thy skull, rascal.”
“Ah, mercy—mercy!” cried Caderousse.
The count withdrew his foot.
“Rise!” said he. Caderousse rose.
“What a wrist you have, reverend sir!” said Caderousse, stroking his arm, all bruised by the fleshy pincers which had held it; “what a wrist!”
“Silence! God gives me strength to overcome a wild beast like you; in the name of that God I act—remember that, wretch—and to spare thee at this moment is still serving him.”
“Oh!” said Caderousse, groaning with pain.
“Take this pen and paper, and write what I dictate.”
“I don’t know how to write, reverend sir.”
“You lie! Take this pen, and write!”
Caderousse, awed by the superior power of the abbé, sat down and wrote:
“ Sir —The man whom you are receiving at your house, and to whom you intend to marry your daughter, is a felon who escaped with me from confinement at Toulon. He was No. 59, and I No. 58. He was called Benedetto, but he is ignorant of his real name, having never known his parents.”
“Sign it!” continued the count.
“But would you ruin me?”