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!

Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through
fire and water to serve thee; but,--a blow! It is not the bruise that
galls,--it is the blush, Melnotte.

Mel. Say, what message?--How insulted!--Wherefore?--What the offence?

Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the
rich merchant?

Mel. Well?

Gaspar. And are you not a peasant--a gardener's son?--that was the
offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows! [Exit.

Widow. Now you are cured, Claude!

Mel. tearing the letter. So do I scatter her image to the winds--I will
stop her in the open streets--I will insult her--I will beat her
menial ruffians--I will--[Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, am I
humpbacked--deformed--hideous? Widow. You!

Mel. A coward--a thief--a liar?

Widow. You!

Mel. Or a dull fool--a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? Widow. No, no.
Mel. What am I then--worse than all these? Why, I am a peasant! What has
a peasant to do with love? Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on
the great? Oh that we--we, the hewers of wood and drawers of water--had
been swept away, so that the proud might learn what the world would be
without us! [Knock at the door.

Enter Servant from the Inn.

Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte.

Mel. A letter! from her perhaps--who sent thee?

Servant. Why, Monsieur--I mean Citizen--Beauseant, who stops to dine at
the Golden Lion, on his way to his cha