“I had no idea of this, Signor Rivarez,” Montanelli said in a voice of great distress.
“I told Your Eminence,” the Gadfly answered, with his hard smile, “that I n-n-never expected to be patted on the head.”
“Sergeant, how long has this been going on?”
“Since he tried to escape, Your Eminence.”
“That is, nearly a week? Bring a knife and cut these off at once.”
“May it please Your Eminence, the doctor wanted to take them off, but Colonel Ferrari wouldn't allow it.”
“Bring a knife at once.” Montanelli had not raised his voice, but the soldiers could see that he was white with anger. The sergeant took a clasp-knife from his pocket, and bent down to cut the arm-strap. He was not a skilful-fingered man; and he jerked the strap tighter with an awkward movement, so that the Gadfly winced and bit his lip in spite of all his self-control. Montanelli came forward at once.
“You don't know how to do it; give me the knife.”
“Ah-h-h!” The Gadfly stretched out his arms with a long, rapturous sigh as the strap fell off. The next instant Montanelli had cut the other one, which bound his ankles.
“Take off the irons, too, sergeant; and then come here. I want to speak to you.”