137 8 Les Miserables
having his right hand free, he unscrewed it, and used it as a
saw to cut the cords which fastened him, which would ex-
plain the faint noise and almost imperceptible movements
which Marius had observed.
As he had not been able to bend down, for fear of betray-
ing himself, he had not cut the bonds of his left leg.
The ruffians had recovered from their first surprise.
‘Be easy,’ said Bigrenaille to Thenardier. ‘He still holds by
one leg, and he can’t get away. I’ll answer for that. I tied that
paw for him.’
In the meanwhile, the prisoner had begun to speak:—
‘You are wretches, but my life is not worth the trouble of
defending it. When you think that you can make me speak,
that you can make me write what I do not choose to write,
that you can make me say what I do not choose to say—‘
He stripped up his left sleeve, and added:—
‘See here.’
At the same moment he extended his arm, and laid the
glowing chisel which he held in his left hand by its wooden
handle on his bare flesh.
The crackling of the burning flesh became audible, and
the odor peculiar to chambers of torture filled the hovel.
Marius reeled in utter horror, the very ruffians shud-
dered, hardly a muscle of the old man’s face contracted,
and while the red-hot iron sank into the smoking wound,
impassive and almost august, he fixed on Thenardier his
beautiful glance, in which there was no hatred, and where
suffering vanished in serene majesty.
With grand and lofty natures, the revolts of the flesh and