"You see that I put plenty of water in my wine. I do not know the amount of your fortune, but I am aware that you do not care for money, and a benevolent man like you can easily give two hundred thousand francs to an unfortunate parent. Of course, you are reasonable too; you cannot have supposed that I would take all that trouble this morning, and organize this affair to-night,--which is a well-done job, in the opinion of these gentlemen,--merely to ask you for enough money to go and drink fifteen sous wine and eat veal at Desnoyer's. But two hundred thousand francs, that's worth the trouble; once that trifle has come out of your pocket I will guarantee that you have nothing more to apprehend. You will say, 'But I have not two hundred thousand francs about me.' Oh, I am not unreasonable, and I do not insist on that. I only ask one thing of you: be good enough to write what I shall dictate." Here Thénardier stopped, but added, laying a stress on the words and casting a smile at the heating-dish,-- "I warn you that I shall not accept the excuse that you cannot write." A Grand Inquisitor might have envied that smile. Thénardier pushed the table close up to M. Leblanc, and took pen, ink, and paper out of the drawer, which he left half open, and in which the long knife-blade flashed. He laid the sheet of paper before M. Leblanc. "Write!" he said. The prisoner at last spoke. "How can you expect me to write? My arms are tied." "That is true; I beg your pardon," said Thénardier, "you are quite right;" and turning to Bigrenaille, he added, "Unfasten the gentleman's right arm." Panchaud _alias_ Printanier _alias_ Bigrenaille obeyed Thénardier's orders, and when the prisoner's hand was free, Thénardier dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to him. "Make up your mind, sir, that you are in our absolute power; no human interference can liberate you, and we should really be sorry to be forced to proceed to disagreeable extremities. I know neither your name nor your address, but I warn you that you will remain tied up here until the person commissioned to deliver the letter you are going to write has returned. Now be good enough to write." "What?" the prisoner asked. Thénardier began dictating: "My daughter." The prisoner started, and raised his eyes to Thénardier,-- "Make it, 'My dear daughter,'" said Thénardier. M. Leblanc obeyed. Thénardier continued,-- "Come to me at once, for I want you particularly. The person who delivers this letter to you has instructions to bring you to me. I am waiting. Come in perfect confidence." M. Leblanc wrote this down. Thénardier resumed,--"By the way, efface that 'Come in perfect confidence,' for it might lead to a supposition that the affair is not perfectly simple, and create distrust." M. Leblanc erased the words. "Now," Thénardier added, "sign it. What is your name?" The prisoner laid down the pen, and asked,-- "For whom is this letter?"