At the mention of the words ’livery’ and ’servitors,’ Malto had started and flushed. And now at the word ’spy’ he seemed to lose control of himself. He laid a hand on Malandris, as though asking that the answering of the questions should be left to him. Then, drawing himself up, he said haughtily, ’Though we are your prisoners, sir, I fail to see why we should endure your insults without protest! It is true, alas! that I have for many years been one of Agrando’s servitors—ay, even his slave, I may almost say. But I am not the first, nor the only one, of gentle birth, who has been forced by the tyrant to serve him thus. At last, however, I have escaped, and I only await the opportunity of picking up some other suit of clothes to throw off for ever what you aptly call his hated livery. If you are, indeed, as I suspect, the chief Fumenta of whom I have heard, I have no reason for fear, for I have been told of him that he is brave and just, an upright, chivalrous gentleman, though he has been sorely persecuted. I have never heard, however, that he was given to insulting his prisoners, and taunting them with having been forced to serve a hateful tyrant.’ Alondra, who had been engaged in ’taking stock,’ so to speak, of everything and every one around, turned and looked at Malto in surprise. The young man had suddenly come out in a new character. He was looking his questioner squarely in the face, his eyes flashing back glance for glance, his whole attitude full of indignant protest. Yet was there in it nothing of rudeness; on the contrary, even in his defiance, there was a subtle suggestion of that deference which a young man may always pay to age without lowering his own dignity. But what was even more noticeable was the fact that Fumenta himself appeared to be just as much taken aback as Alondra had been. To the surprise of every one there—his own people most of all—he showed no sign of anger, and the look he cast at the speaker, shrewd, searching, as it was, was free from all trace of irritation. There was a pause, while he eyed the young man from head to foot. He looked at him as if trying to read his very soul. Then, for a moment, a quick, eager expression came into his face; but it faded again instantly, he passed his hand over his forehead in a strange, dreamy way, and finally shook his head. When he spoke again his tone was gentler. ’You are bold, young sir,’ he said. ’Few dare to speak to me as you have done. Yet if you tell the truth your boldness will be justified, for it shall never be said that those who have called me a just man spoke falsely. I confess I like your spirit; you remind me of—— But it’s useless now to speak of that. What is your name?’ ’I have been known as Malto. But it is not my true name.’ ’How so?’ ’Agrando chose, for purposes of his own, that I should be called Malto while I was yet but a boy; and I had no choice but to submit.’