“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!”