"I know that, as I met him on the road to Blois."
"On the road to Blois?" said the porter, a little more attentive.
"Yes, and he there charged me with a message for Madame de Montpensier."
"A message?"
"A letter."—"Where is it?"
"Here," said Ernanton, striking his doublet.
"Will you let me see it?"
"Willingly." And Ernanton drew out the letter.
"What singular ink!" said the man.
"It is blood," said Ernanton, calmly.