Amar opened his eyes, and tried to speak. He could not; the flow of blood choked him. He shook his fist at Ste. Luce.
"Cursed brute," cried François, "be still! He will begin to howl presently. The sons of Satan are immortal."
"We must gag him, François."
"But he will die; he will choke. See how he breathes—how hard."
"Diable! it is he or I. Would he spare me, do you think? Don't talk nonsense. Do as I tell you."
François took up a towel. As he approached, Amar looked up at him. There was no plea in his savage face.
"Go on. What the deuce are you waiting for?" said Ste. Luce.
"I cannot do it," said François. "End it yourself."
"What! I? Strangle a dog! I! Dame! Let us go. What a fool you are!"
"Better go singly, then," said the thief. He had no mind to increase his own risks by the dangerous society of the nobleman.