“A man must live,” returned Pierre.
“A pretext for villainy and cruelty as long as the world has been a world, I suppose. Yet were I a lusty fellow like you, I’d find some honester use for my muscles than to maim my fellow-men and drag their joints asunder, Master Torturer.”
“I am no torturer,” said Pierre. “I am the warder.”
“Warder only, eh? You get the torture ready and stand aside for some one with a tougher stomach to do the mangling. Yet by the look of your face, I think I’m wronging you. Those eyes of yours have a light in them that speaks of a better nature than your words imply.”
“I have to obey my orders. You are a soldier they say, and should know that. Why are you placed here?”
“That’s a question I could better put to you. To watch you set those instruments running smoothly for my poor bones, maybe.”
“’Tis a sight many a brave man has quailed at seeing. But I mean, what is your crime; what have you done?”
“As much as many of the Governor’s prisoners probably; that is, nothing.”
“Then these are to find the offence.”
Gerard laughed lightly.