"You know, Ricardo," said Garofoli, "I don't like to look on, because a scene like this always makes me feel ill. But I can hear, and from the noise I am able to judge the strength of your blows. Go at it heartily, dearie; you are working for your bread."
He turned towards the fire, as though it were impossible for him to witness this chastisement.
I, in my corner, trembled with indignation and fear. This was the man who was going to be my master. If I did not bring him back the thirty or forty sous that he demanded of me, I should have to be whipped by Ricardo. Ah, I understood now how Mattia could speak of death so calmly.
"FOR EACH CRY YOU WILL RECEIVE ANOTHER SLASH."
The first lash of the whip, as it cut into the flesh, made the tears spring to my eyes. I thought that I was forgotten, but I made a mistake; Garofoli was looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
"There's a boy with a heart," he said, pointing to me; "he is not like you other rogues; you laugh when you see your comrades suffer. Take this little comrade for an example."
I trembled from head to foot. Their comrade!
At the second blow the victim uttered a wail, at the third a piercing shriek. Garofoli lifted his hand; Ricardo stopped with raised whip. I thought Garofoli was going to show mercy, but it was not so.