He had seized him round the body and forced him down on a chair; and he now held the young man's left hand flat on the table, with his five fingers spread out. He swiftly took a knife from his pocket, pressed the blade against the little finger, between the first and second joints, and commanded:
"Strike! Strike your own blow. One blow of the fist and that is all!"
He had taken Gérard's right hand and was trying to bring it down upon the other like a hammer.
Gérard writhed and twisted, convulsed with horror. He understood:
"Never!" he stuttered. "Never!"
"Strike! One blow and it's done! One blow and you will be like that man: no one will recognize you."
"Tell me his name. . . ."
"Strike first!"
"Never! Oh, what torture! . . . I beseech you . . . presently. . . ."
"Now. . . . I insist . . . you must . . ."