‘You have done me so much good, and now you don’t speak to me,’ said the stranger.
‘When did I thee much good?’ said the poor man bewildered.
‘Even now,’ said the stranger; for in reality he was no painone, but one of the holy souls who had taken that form, and he alluded to the poor man’s last coin, of which he had deprived himself in charity.
‘I cannot think to what your Excellency[4] alludes,’ replied the poor man.
‘Nevertheless it is true,’ returned the painone; ‘and now I will ask you to do me another favour. Will you take this letter to such and such a palace?’ and he gave him the exact address. ‘When you get there, you must insist on giving it into the hands of the master of the house himself. Never mind how many times you are refused, do not go away till you have given it to the master himself.’
‘Never fear, your Excellency,’ answered the poor man, ‘I’ll deliver it right.’
When he reached the palace, it was just as the painone had seemed to expect it would be. First the porter came forward with his cocked hat and his gilt knobbed stick, with the coloured cord twisted over it all the way down, and asked him whither he was going.
‘To Count so-and-so,’ answered the poor man.
‘All right! give it here,’ said the splendid porter.
‘By no means, my orders were to consign it to the count himself.’