‘Go in and try,’ answered the porter. ‘But you may as well save yourself the stairs; they won’t let such as you in to the count.’
‘I must follow orders,’ said the poor man, and passed on.
At the door of the apartment a liveried servant came to open.
‘What do you want up here? if you have brought anything, why didn’t you leave it with the porter?’
‘Because my orders are to give this letter into the count’s own hands,’ answered the poor man.
‘A likely matter I shall call the “Signor Conte” out, and to such as you! Give here, and don’t talk nonsense.’
‘No! into the count’s own hands must I give it.’
‘Don’t be afraid; I’ve lived here these thirty years, and no message for the “Signor Conte” ever went wrong that passed through my hands. Yours isn’t more precious than the rest, I suppose.’
‘I know nothing about that, but I must follow orders.’
‘And so must I, and I know my place too well to call out the “Signor Conte” to the like of you.’