And he placed a twisted towel over the prince's face and tried to insert the ends into his mouth while Bernard bound his wrists and ankles with some more towels. All this was done in silence. The prince offered no resistance and uttered not a cry. He had opened his eyes and lay staring at his aggressors with the air of a man who does not understand what is happening to him, but is seized with increasing dread as he becomes aware of his danger.
"Not much pluck about William's son and heir," chuckled Bernard. "Lord, what a funk he's in! Hi, young-fellow-my-lad, pull yourself together! Where's your smelling-bottle?"
Paul had at last succeeded in cramming half the towel into his mouth. He lifted him up and said:
"Now let's be off."
"What do you propose to do?"
"Take him away."
"To France."
"To France?"
"Well, of course. We've got him; he'll have to help us."