"You saw yesterday why I have to have my wrists bandaged?" said L'Oiseleur abruptly.
Laurent had his back to him. "I did not look particularly," he very truthfully replied.
"Then I advise you to do so next time," said Aymar de la Rocheterie. "You may not, then, perhaps, care to . . . continue your ministrations."
Laurent was momentarily tempted to retort, "Would that please you?" but he was too much afraid of the answer to risk it. Oh, why would he, with the scrap of strength he had gained, use it in torturing himself and his fellow-captive? Inspired by sheer desperation the guardian turned round with an air of authority and said, "Monsieur de la Rocheterie, I am under strict orders not to let you talk. If you will allow me, I will try to arrange you more comfortably, and perhaps you could sleep a little."
The bloodless lips almost twitched into a smile as the wounded man looked up at him. "When last we met, Monsieur de Courtomer, under very different circumstances——"
"Excuse me, but would you not like your pillow turned?"
"No, thank you. As I was saying——"
"If only you would not talk!" interjected Laurent.
"When last I had the pleasure of seeing you . . . at M. de Saint-Séverin's reception . . . I little guessed that at our next meeting you would be what you are . . . and I—" he drew a long breath "—and I . . . what I am!"
"—Surgeon's assistant and patient," struck in Laurent gallantly. "No, I little thought that myself!"