The altercation brought out the valet.
‘This fellow expects the “Signor Conte” to come to the door to take in his letters himself,’ said the lackey, laughing disdainfully. ‘What’s to be done with the poor animal?’
‘Give here, good man,’ said the valet, patronisingly not paying much heed to the remarks of the servant; ‘I am the “Signor Conte’s” own body servant, and giving it to me is the same as giving it to himself.’
‘Maybe,’ answered the poor man, ‘but I’m too simple to understand how one man can be the same as another. My orders are to give it to the count alone, and to the count alone I must give it.’
‘Take it from him, and turn him out,’ said the valet, with supreme disdain, and the lackey was not slow to take advantage of the permission. The poor man, however, would not yield his trust, and the scuffle that ensued brought the count himself out to learn the reason of so much noise.
The letter was now soon delivered. The count started when he saw the handwriting, and was impelled to tear the letter open at once, so much did its appearance seem to surprise him.
‘Who gave you the letter?’ he exclaimed, in an excited manner, as soon as he had rapidly devoured its contents.
‘I cannot tell, I never saw the person before,’ replied the poor man.
‘Would you know him again?’ inquired the count.
‘Oh, most undoubtedly!’ answered the poor man; ‘he said such strange things to me that I looked hard at him.’