The lady rose hurriedly, took leave of the governor, and while he continued his inspection of the petitions she hastened to her apartments in a wing of the palace, directing that the messenger should follow her.
She had been seated on a rich sofa in the midst of her women for a few instants only, when the messenger entered. The countess on seeing him made a slight gesture of aversion, which she hid at once by a friendly smile.
And yet the messenger’s appearance was not at all repulsive. He was a man of somewhat diminutive stature, whose plumpness suggested anything else rather than a messenger. Still, a close study of his face showed it to be frank to the point of impudence, and his look of good-humor had a spice of deviltry and malice. He bowed low to the countess, and offered her a package sealed with silk thread.
“Noble lady,” said he, “deign to permit me to venture to lay at your feet a precious message from his Grace your illustrious husband, my revered master.”
“Is he not coming himself? And why did he choose you as his messenger?” inquired the countess.
“Important business delays the coming of his Grace, as this letter will inform you, Madam. For myself, I am by the orders of my noble master to enjoy the distinguished honor of a private interview with you.”
The countess turned pale, and exclaimed in a trembling voice, “With me,—me, Musdœmon?”
“If it distresses the noble lady in the slightest degree, her unworthy servant will be reduced to despair.”
“Distress me! No, of course not,” returned the countess, trying to smile. “But is this conversation so essential?”
The messenger bowed down to the ground.