The innkeeper was eyeing the money, but his reply was cautious: "How--'important'?" "Rich?" "The old lord lost much when there was the great rising for Don Carlos. But an Ethenard-Eskurola does not need riches." "Then he's lucky. How does that happen?" "Because his family is the most ancient and powerful in all the Vascongadas. There is no family older in Spain, nor any prouder." It was plainly one subject of which this alien was permitted to know something. "They have been lords of this land since before the time that men made chronicles. The papers in the castle go back to the Fifteenth Century--to the time when _Eskura_ was first turned into an alphabet. They were at Roncesvalles; they made pilgrimages to Jerusalem and fought in the crusades. One of them was Lord-Lieutenant of Jerusalem when Godfrey de Bouillon was its King. There was an Ethenard-Eskurola at La Isla de los Faisanes when the French Louis XI arranged there with our Henry the marriage of the Duc de Guienne. Always they have been lords and over-lords--always." "I see," said Cartaret. "And the present lord lives near here at the castle?" "As all his fathers lived before him. At their place and in their manner. What they did, he does; what they believed, he believes. Monsieur, even the ancient Basque traditions of hospitality are there a law infringeable. Were you his bitterest blood-enemy and knocked at the castle-gate for a night's shelter, he himself, Ricardo d'Alegria, would greet you and wait upon you, and keep you safe until morning." "And then shoot my head off?" suggested Cartaret. The innkeeper smiled: "I know nothing; but the lord at the castle knows." "I suppose he hasn't a drop of any blood but Basque blood in him?" "Monsieur, there is but one way in which a foreigner may marry even the humblest Basque, and that is by some act that saves the Basque's entire line. Thus even the humblest. As for the grandee at the castle, if I so much as asked him that question, so proud is he of his nationality and family that likely he would kill me." "He must be a pleasant neighbor," said the American. "He lives alone?" "With his servants. He has, of course, many servants." "He is not married?" Still eyeing the gold-piece, the landlord answered: "No. There was something, once, long ago, that men say--but I know nothing. The Don Ricardo is the last of his house. Unless he marries, the Eskurolas will cease. However, he will marry." "You seem certain of it." "Naturally, monsieur. He will marry in order that the Eskurolas do not cease." "Yes-s-s." Cartaret hesitated before his next question. "So he's alone up there? I mean--I mean there's no other member of his family with him now?" Instantly the innkeeper's face became blank. "I know nothing----" he began. "But the lord at the castle knows!" interrupted Cartaret. "I said it first that time. The lord at the castle must know everything." "He does," said the landlord simply.