"Come," said Maurice, "you will not kill me for pleasure, unless you are downright ruffians."
Maurice made a second effort, more violent and unexpected than the first, to disengage his hands from the cord which bound them, when suddenly a cold sensation, sharp and painful, shot through his breast.
Despite himself, Maurice fell back a step.
"Ah! you felt that," said one of the men. "Well, there are eight inches like the inch with which you have just become acquainted."
"Complete your work, then," said Maurice, resignedly; "it will at least soon be over."
"Come now, who are you?" asked the voice which was at once mild and commanding.
"Do you wish to know my name?"
"Yes, your name."
"Maurice Lindey."
"What!" exclaimed a voice, "Maurice Lindey, the revolu—the patriot? Maurice Lindey, secretary of the Lepelletier section?"