Mel. It reached her, then; you are sure of that! It reached her,—well, well!
Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. Dost hear, Melnotte? with blows! Death! are we slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we peasants?
Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows!
Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire swore that his lady and her mother never were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, Claude?
Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not have written to an empress. No, not one.
Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude?
Mel. [wringing GASPAR’s hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! The heartless insolence!
Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through fire and water to serve thee; but,—a blow! It is not the bruise that galls,—it is the blush, Melnotte.
Mel. Say, what message?—How insulted!—Wherefore?—What the offence?
Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the rich merchant?