I could not answer him as I desired, for we passed at that moment under the archway, and became instantly involved in the bustle going forward in the courtyard. Near the principal door of the inn stood eight or nine horses gayly caparisoned and in the charge of three foreign-looking men, who, lounging in their saddles, were passing a jug from hand to hand. They turned as we rode in and looked at us curiously, but not with any impertinence. Apparently they were waiting for the rest of their party, who were inside the house. Civilly disposed as they seemed, the fact that they were armed, and wore rich liveries of black and gold, caused me, and I think both of us, a momentary alarm. "Who are they?" Master Bertie asked in a low voice, as he rode to the opposite door and dismounted with his back to them. "They are Spaniards, I fancy," I said, scanning them over the shoulders of my horse as I too got off. "Old friends, so to speak." "They seem wonderfully subdued for them," he answered, "and on their best behavior. If half the tales we heard this morning be true, they are not wont to carry themselves like this." Yet they certainly were Spanish, for I overheard them speaking to one another in that language; and before we had well dismounted, their leader--whom they received with great respect, one of them jumping down to hold his stirrup--came out with three or four more and got to horse again. Turning his rein to lead the way out through the north gate he passed near us, and as he settled himself in his saddle took a good look at us. The look passed harmlessly over me, but reaching Master Bertie became concentrated. The rider started and smiled faintly. He seemed to pause, then he raised his plumed cap and bowed low--covered himself again and rode on. His train all followed his example and saluted us as they passed. Master Bertie's face, which had flushed a fiery red under the other's gaze, grew pale again. He looked at me, when they had gone by, with startled eyes. "Do you know who that was?" he said, speaking like one who had received a blow and did not yet know how much he was hurt. "No," I said. "It was the Count de Feria, the Spanish Ambassador," he answered. "And he recognized me. I met him often, years ago. I knew him again as soon as he came out, but I did not think he would by any chance recognize me in this dress." "Are you sure," I asked in amazement, "that it was he?" "Quite sure," he answered. "But why did he not have you arrested, or at least detained? The warrants are still out against you." Master Bertie shook his head. "I cannot tell," he said darkly. "He is a Spaniard. But come, we have the less time to lose. We must join our friends and take their advice; we seem to be surrounded by pitfalls."