"What is the meaning of this?" asked Mrs. Curwen, indignantly, in English, and the official, not understanding her words but replying to her gestures, bowed and shrugged his shoulders. "Permit me to interpret," said Mayhew, readily, and he put the question in Spanish; and meanwhile the man’s eyes were all over the room, settling finally on me. "My instructions are to come here—the rooms of Senora Curwen, Hotel de l’Opera—" this he read from his instructions—"in search of the Carlist, Ferdinand Carbonnell." Mayhew made a show of interpreting this to Mrs. Curwen, and jumbled in a half-coherent caution that he knew the man understood English, so that we must look out. "Tell him he has made a mistake; and you," she said to the waiter, "go and fetch the manager of the Hotel. I will not stand this kind of treatment." "In the presence of the police we are powerless, madam," replied the waiter. "The manager is away, I am acting in his place." Meanwhile Mercy had turned so pale that I was afraid the official would notice it. Then Mayhew answered— "You are under a grave mistake. This lady is an English visitor to Madrid, has been here only two or three days, knows nothing of any Carlists, and desires you to leave her rooms." "There is no mistake. That is Ferdinand Carbonnell; or at least he answers to the description well enough for me, and he must accompany me," and he came and stood by my chair. "I don’t know what you’re driving at," I said, thinking it time to take a hand on my own account. "If you want me to go anywhere with you, I’ve no particular objection. But you’ll find yourself in a mess if you carry this blunder, or fooling, or whatever it is, any further." "You speak excellent Spanish, senor. May I ask your name?" "Is that a crime?" I asked with a sneer, while Mayhew laughed unconstrainedly and most naturally. "If you want to know who I am—I’m an Englishman, Lord Glisfoyle; and if you want anyone to prove it, we’ll go and knock up the English Ambassador, and ask him what he thinks of this kind of outrage. I say it’s monstrous." "Lord Glisfoyle," he returned, stumbling over the pronunciation. He was obviously impressed by my coolness and the little touch of indignation. He took out a paper and scanned it closely. "You answer in every particular to Ferdinand Carbonnell’s description. These are anxious times, senor, and I have only my duty to do," he added apologetically. "I can’t help that," said I, quietly. "If you want to arrest me because I speak Spanish well and look like somebody else, you must have a queer set of laws here in Madrid. Had we better knock the Ambassador up, for the enlightenment of the gentleman?" I asked Mayhew.