"I—I knock how I please," returned the lackey in a thick voice. "Open the door—right off. I want to come in—gallows-bird!"
"Whom do you wish?"
"You do not want to open; dog of Jewry! Swine! My master will beat you to death with his stick. He said to me: 'Carry—this letter to Samuel the Jew—and above all—rascal—do not tarry at the inn!' So I want to get in to your dog-kennel, you devil of a Jew!"
"May I ask your master's name?"
"My master is Monseigneur the Count of Plouernel, colonel in the Guards. You know him well. You have before now lent him money—triple Arab!—according to what my lord's steward says—and at good interest, too."
"Have you your master's letter?"
"Yes—pig! And so, open. If not—I'll break in the gate."
"Then pass me the letter through the wicket, and hurry about it. Else I shall go in and leave you as you are."
"Mule! Isn't he stubborn, that animal!" grumbled the lackey as he shoved the letter through the grating. "I must have an answer, good and quick, I was told," he added.
"When I have read the letter," replied Samuel.