"And they searched you?" asked Léodgard, apparently little moved by his messenger's groans. "Yes, seigneur, from top to bottom!" "It is lucky that I gave you no letter to-day." "Yes, seigneur; for I believe that in that case they would have killed me on the spot.--Hoo! I am bruised to a jelly! I shall have a serious illness!" "Nonsense! a man should not be so delicate! Just for a few blows with a cudgel!" "A few blows? No, thanks, seigneur! they rained on my body like hail! If you had been beaten like that----" "I would have defended myself! I would have killed two or three of the miserable lackeys!" "Oh, yes! that would have been the finishing touch. I should have got myself into a pretty pickle! to trot off to the Châtelet or the Bastille, and rot there!" "Nonsense! hold your peace and take this gold, which will heal your wounds." "Thanks, seigneur! I certainly do need to buy medicines, ointments to rub my body." "And before long you will be in condition to return to the marchioness's house." "Return to the Hôtel de Santoval? Merciful heaven!" And, waiting to hear no more, Bahuchet ran off as fast as his bruised legs allowed, and soon vanished from the count's sight. "The coward!" exclaimed Léodgard, as he watched the little clerk's flight; "he is afraid of the danger!--So this Marquis de Santoval has suspicions; he plays the spy, he posts his servants in ambush! But it will avail him nothing! If Valentine will second me, we will crush all the obstacles that he may place between us!" Some time had passed without any new occurrence, when Miretta one day entered Maître Bourdinard's office, where Plumard was trying to detach the last remaining piece of his plaster; while Bahuchet regaled himself with a small ham and a bottle of superfine old wine, in which he indulged himself with the proceeds of his visits to the Hôtel de Santoval. On recognizing the marchioness's young lady's-maid, Bahuchet turned pale and swallowed a mouthful the wrong way, dreading a new cudgelling. But the girl smiled at him and motioned that she wished to speak with him in secret. The little clerk regretfully quitted his ham and went out with Miretta, who said to him when they reached a solitary spot: "Are you willing to undertake a commission?" "If it is to go to the Hôtel de Santoval again, never! I have had enough of that!" "No, it is not that, but to carry this note to him who sent you to my mistress." "Oh! that is a different matter." "Here, this is for you; will you do the errand?" Bahuchet at once placed in his belt the purse she handed him; then he glanced at the note and said: "But I see no address." "What is the use? you know perfectly well for whom it is!" "I beg pardon! I know perfectly well that it is for the young lord who employed me; but I do not know that young lord; I know neither his name nor his residence; I have never seen him, except in the cheap wine shop where he always waited for me."