The postillion cracked his whip and the sentry called out, “Who goes there?”
“Express messenger.”
After making me wait for an hour the gate was opened, and I was told that I must go and speak to the governor. I did so, fretting and fuming on my way as if I were some great person, and I was taken to a room where a man in an elegant nightcap was lying beside a very pretty woman.
“Whose messenger are you?”
“Nobody’s, but as I am in a hurry.”
“That will do. We will talk the matter over tomorrow. In the meanwhile you will accept the hospitality of the guard-room.”
“But, sir . . .”
“But me no buts, if you please; leave the room.”
I was taken to the guard-room where I spent the night seated on the ground. The daylight appeared. I shouted, swore, made all the racket I could, said I wanted to go on, but nobody took any notice of me.
Ten o’clock struck. More impatient than I can say, I raised my voice and spoke to the officer, telling him that the governor might assassinate me if he liked, but had no right to deny me pen and paper, or to deprive me of the power of sending a messenger to Paris.