Bertrand opened his eyes.
“I wish you to attend closely to what I tell you,” said Frank. “Do you understand?”
In a mechanical manner Defarge said: “Yes.”
“In the future, Defarge, you cannot drink absinth in any form. The smell of absinth shall make you faint or sick. If you lift to your lips a glass containing the stuff, your fingers shall be unable to hold the glass, and it shall fall from your hand before you can drink. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Defarge, in the same mechanical manner.
“Further, for the space of one week, you shall be unable to do anything to injure me, Frank Merriwell.”
“Why only for a week?” whispered Skelding. “Why not make it forever?”
But it was Frank’s desire to know if in a week’s time this fellow would be rid of his evil and murderous passions, or if they would still possess him in full force.
“That is all,” said Merriwell. “When I clap my hands you will be at liberty again, but you must go straight to your room, undress, and go to bed. You will have a good night’s sleep, which will calm your nerves.”
Then Frank suddenly clapped his hands, and Bertrand jumped as if he had been shot. He started to his feet, staring round wildly, his aspect being one of bewilderment and fear.