And Michael held up his left hand, wrapped up in a bloody piece of linen.
“It was pretty hard work to get the madman here. I was compelled to tie him hand and foot, and to carry him bodily to my father’s house. There we put him into the little carriage, and here he is. Just look at the pretty fellow!”
He was hideous at that moment, with his livid face spotted all over with red marks, his hanging lips covered with white foam, and his brutish glances.
“Why would you not come?” asked M. Seneschal.
The idiot looked as if he did not hear.
“Why did you bite Michael?” continued the mayor.
Cocoleu made no reply.
“Do you know that M. de Boiscoran is in prison because of what you have said?”
Still no reply.
“Ah!” said Michael, “it is of no use to question him. You might beat him till to-morrow, and he would rather give up the ghost than say a word.”