"Poom!" said he, as if in genial disdain of my suggestion.
I smiled, and then, after putting my hands on the walls here and
there to see if they were, as they seemed, quite dry, I drew back to
my couch and sat down. Presently I stooped to tip the earthen jar
of water to my lips, for I could not lift it with one hand, but my
humane jailer took it from me and held it to my mouth. When I had
drunk, "Do you know," asked I as calmly as I could, "if our barber
gave the letter to Mademoiselle?"
"M'sieu', you've travelled far to reach that question," said he,
jangling his keys as if he enjoyed it. "And if he had--?"
I caught at his vague suggestion, and my heart leaped.
"A reply," said I, "a message or a letter," though I had not dared
to let myself even think of that.
He whipped a tiny packet from his coat. "'Tis a sparrow's pecking--no
great matter here, eh?"--he weighed it up and down on his fingers--"a
little piping wren's par pitie."
I reached out for it. "I should read it," said he. "There must be
no more of this. But new orders came AFTER I'd got her dainty a
m'sieu'! Yes, I must read it," said he--"but maybe not at first," he
added, "not at first, if you'll give word of honour not to tear it.
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