Anselmo looked uneasily at the wretch; Benedetto quietly walked behind the ex-priest's chair, and began:
"On the 24th of February, 1839, Benedetto, an escaped convict from the galleys of Toulon, murdered Madame Danglars, his mother."
"That is horrible!" cried Anselmo, throwing the pen down; "I shall not write that."
"You will write; you know I can force you; therefore—"
Anselmo sighed, and took up the pen again.
"So, I am done now," he said, after a pause; "must it be signed, too?"
"Certainly; though the name has nothing to do with it. You can put any one you please under it."
It sounded very simple, and yet Anselmo hesitated.
"No," he firmly said, "I will not do it. I know you are up to some trick, and I do not intend to assist you."
Benedetto laughed in a peculiar way.