But he hadn’t yet run any risks, the latter continued. It was just a warning shot; he will surely come to his senses before sending off the dispatches. Upon being apprised of the risk he ran, the marquise’s mother expressed the most heartfelt concern that he would indeed send them. His strong, single-minded determination, she feared, might well make him susceptible to such a rash act. She implored the forest warden to immediately run after him and to dissuade him from courting misfortune. Her son replied that such a move on his part would effectuate the opposite result, and merely strengthen his hope of achieving his end by means of his stratagems. The marquise was of the same opinion, though she was certain, she said, that the dispatches would surely be sent off without him, insofar as he would rather court misfortune than show weakness. Everyone concurred that his behavior was strange, and that he appeared to be accustomed to winning over women’s hearts as he did fortresses, by sustained assault. At that moment, the commandant noticed that the count’s harnessed rig had pulled up to the gate. Surprised, he called his family to the window and inquired of a servant just entering the room if the count was still in the house. The servant replied that he was below in the servants’ quarters writing letters and sealing packages in the company of an adjutant. Hiding his dismay, the commandant hastened downstairs with the forest warden, and seeing the count bent over rough tabletops, inquired if he would not rather conduct his business in the rooms made ready for him, and if he had any other requests. Writing away fast and furiously, the count offered his humble thanks and said that his business was completed; sealing the letter, he asked for the time; and passing the entire dispatch pouch to his adjutant, he wished him a pleasant journey. Not believing his eyes, as the adjutant stepped outside, the commandant spoke up: “Sir Count, if your reasons are not of the utmost importance . . .” “Critical!” the count interrupted, accompanied the adjutant to the carriage and pulled open the door. “In that case,” the commandant continued, “if the dispatches were my responsibility, I would at least . . .” “Impossible!” replied the count, as he helped the adjutant to climb into his seat. “The dispatches are meaningless in Naples without my presence. I also thought of that. Drive on!” “And what of the letters from your uncle?” cried the adjutant, leaning out the door. “They will find me in M . . . ,” the count replied. “Drive on!” said the adjutant, and the rig rolled out the gate.

Hereupon Count F . . . turned to the commandant and inquired if someone could now conduct him to his room.