Men hurried from the guardhouse, and Fortunio's voice sounded loud in command.

A horseman had galloped up to Condillac, walked his horse across the bridge--which was raised only at night--and was knocking with the butt of his whip an imperative summons upon the timbers of the gate.
By Fortunio's orders it was opened, and a man covered with dust, astride a weary, foam-flecked horse, rode under the archway of the keep into the first courtyard of the chateau.
Garnache eyed him in surprise and inquiry, and he read in the man's appearance that he was a courier.

The horseman had halted within a few paces of the spot where "Battista" and his companion stood, and seeing in the vilely clad Garnache a member of the Condillac household, he flung him his reins, then got down stiffly from his horse.
Fortunio, bristling with importance, his left hand on the hilt of his rapier, the fingers of his right twirling at his long fair mustachios, at once confronted him and craved his business.
"I am the bearer of letters for Madame the Dowager Marquise de Condillac," was the reply; whereupon, with an arrogant nod, Fortunio bade the fellow go with him, and issued an order that his horse should be cared for.
Arsenio was speaking in Garnache's ear.

The man's nature was inquisitive, and he was indulging idle conjectures as to what might be the news this courier brought.

Garnache's mind, actuated by very different motives, was engaged upon the same task, so much so that not a word heard he of what his supposed compatriot was whispering.