“What the devil is your trade?” said the captain of the soldiers. “Our trade is the making of baskets, gracious excellency,” said the Count of Nullepart. “Let us hope then that you make better baskets than you do music, you loud rogues,” said the captain; “and what the devil have you in the bundle there?” No sooner had the captain of the soldiers made this inquiry than, to our profound alarm, he gave the bag a prod with the point of his sword; but the occupant thereof, upon whom we were seated, being in a very sooth a royal king, kept himself very close. “Oh, the bag, your excellency!” said the Count of Nullepart, feigning a mighty carelessness. “The bag contains grasses all the way from Esparto for the making of baskets.” “Soh!” said the captain, laughing at that which he considered to be the Count of Nullepart’s simplicity, “the bag contains grasses all the way from Esparto, does it? I suppose it does not, by any chance,” and the captain winked at his troopers, “contain the person of the King’s majesty?” “The person of the King’s majesty!” cried the Count of Nullepart, opening his eyes very wide. “Oh no, gracious excellency! it contains grasses all the way from Esparto. Perhaps your excellency would like to see them?” So finely did the Count of Nullepart feign bewilderment that the soldiers began to laugh heartily at what they took for his simplicity. As if to convince them of the truth of his statement he made a pretence of trying to open the wrong end of the bag. “You thick-witted clown,” said the captain, “we will take your word for it that your precious bag holds not the King’s majesty.” “Wherefore should it hold the King’s majesty, excellency?” asked the Count of Nullepart in a very tolerable provincial Spanish. “Have you not heard,” said the captain, “that his blessed majesty has been murdered during the night, and three of his guard also; that the royal body has been stolen, and that we are scouring all the countryside to find it?” “Gentle saints in heaven!” cried the Count of Nullepart, settling himself more firmly upon the bag, while its royal occupant refrained scrupulously from making the least motion. “Why then, brother Juan,” said I to the Count of Nullepart, “surely that is what all this blowing of trumpets and horns and beating of drums and strange pillaloo that we have heard all the forenoon has been concerned with. The gracious King murdered! His body stolen! Good Virgin Mary, what an age in which to live!” “God save us all!” said the Count of Nullepart. “The gracious King murdered during the dark hours of the night! Did I not say to you, brother Pedro, that something was bound to occur? For did I not remark the sky last evening was blood red? And was I not so afeared at the sight of it that I crossed myself three times?”