"Draw near to us, Bezenecq the Rich."
"That surname of 'Rich' that you insist in applying to me, is no longer mine," said the merchant with a sad smile; "rather call me Bezenecq the Poor."
"Oh," exclaimed Garin, as if in doubt and shrugging his shoulders. He then added: "Come on, Bezenecq the Rich!"
"Father!" cried out Isoline, uneasy, seeing her father stepping away from her. "Where are you going? Father, father, stay with me!"
"There is nothing to fear, dear child. Stay where you are. I am to give the bailiff certain directions as to the route that the messenger of the seigneur count will have to take." And, fearing to displease Garin, he followed him, happy at the thought that Isoline could not hear the explanations he was to receive from the Serf-eater. The latter stopped first before the iron gibbet that terminated in a carcan. One of the gaolers having raised the lantern at the order of Garin, he said to the merchant: "As you see, that carcan opens at will. You may guess its object."
"Yes. The neck of the patient being inserted in it, the poor fellow remains fast!"
"Just so. He is made to climb the ladder you see here. Then, as his neck is in the carcan, all you have to do is to close the collar with a latch and remove the ladder. The gibbet being raised nine or ten feet above the floor, you may imagine the rest."
"The patient remains hanged and strangled?"
"Not at all! He remains suspended, but not hanged. The carcan is too wide to strangle. Then, while our man is thus kicking in the air an equal distance between the ceiling and the floor, this large stone is fastened to his feet by means of these straps to moderate his kicking and induce him to keep quiet."
"That strain must be terrible."