I tested the springs and mattressing:
“I think I am all right,” I answered briefly.
As I replied, I touched my fingers to the covering of the dormeuse about me. It was not satin, nor velvet, as I had supposed; but a kind of silk so closely woven that I guessed it to be for purposes of insulation. Leaning over I now noticed also for the first time that the four legs of my chair were shod with glass.
When I sat up again, I saw the Marquis Gaspard standing in front of me.
“Monsieur,” said he, with the very greatest gentleness in his manner and tone of voice, “Monsieur, the dawn will soon be upon us. We can delay no longer now. You are quite sure you have no objection to our beginning?”
One last wave of anguished rebellion gathered in my throat, and choked me. Nevertheless, I shook my head impatiently, to indicate that I had no objection whatever.
“That is better than I dared hope,” the marquis exclaimed; “I cannot tell how grateful to you I am!”
He was looking at me with an emotion that quite surprised me. Visibly affected, and with some hesitation, he resumed:
“Monsieur, there is one thought which I cannot bear your having even for a single moment: the thought that you have fallen, this night, into the hands of heartless, inhuman men.”
I stared at him coldly without answering.