Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace?

Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey
to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for.

Mel. It reached her, then; you are sure of that!
It reached her,--well, well!

Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows.
Dost hear, Melnotte? with blows! Death! are we slaves still,
that we are to be thus dealt with, we peasants?

Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows!

Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame
to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire
swore that his lady and her mother never were so insulted.
What could thy letter contain, Claude?

Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not
have written to an empress. No, not one.

Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou
wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude?

Mel. [wringing GASPAR's hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have
brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged!
The heartless insolence!