Meanwhile the prince took De Guiche aside and asked him how the prisoner had been taken and who this young man was. “Monsieur,” said the prince, turning toward Raoul, “I know that you have a letter from my sister, Madame de Longueville; but I see that you have preferred commending yourself to me by giving me good counsel.” “My lord,” said Raoul, coloring up, “I did not wish to interrupt your highness in a conversation so important as that in which you were engaged with the count. But here is the letter.” “Very well,” said the prince; “give it to me later. Here is the prisoner; let us attend to what is most pressing.” The prisoner was one of those military adventurers who sold their blood to whoever would buy, and grew old in stratagems and spoils. Since he had been taken he had not uttered a word, so that it was not known to what country he belonged. The prince looked at him with unspeakable distrust. “Of what country are you?” asked the prince. The prisoner muttered a few words in a foreign tongue. “Ah! ah! it seems that he is a Spaniard. Do you speak Spanish, Grammont?” “Faith, my lord, but indifferently.” “And I not at all,” said the prince, laughing. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning to those who were near him “can any one of you speak Spanish and serve me as interpreter?” “I can, my lord,” said Raoul. “Ah, you speak Spanish?” “Enough, I think, to fulfill your highness’s wishes on this occasion.” Meanwhile the prisoner had remained impassive and as if he had no understanding of what was taking place. “My lord asks of what country you are,” said the young man, in the purest Castilian. “_Ich bin ein Deutscher_,” replied the prisoner. “What in the devil does he say?” asked the prince. “What new gibberish is that?” “He says he is German, my lord,” replied Raoul; “but I doubt it, for his accent is bad and his pronunciation defective.” “Then you speak German, also?” asked the prince. “Yes, my lord.” “Well enough to question him in that language?” “Yes, my lord.” “Question him, then.” Raoul began the examination, but the result justified his opinion. The prisoner did not understand, or seemed not to understand, what Raoul said to him; and Raoul could hardly understand his replies, containing a mixture of Flemish and Alsatian. However, amidst all the prisoner’s efforts to elude a systematic examination, Raoul had recognized his natural accent. “_Non siete Spagnuolo_,” he said; “_non siete Tedesco; siete Italiano_.” The prisoner started and bit his lips. “Ah, that,” said the prince, “I understand that language thoroughly; and since he is Italian I will myself continue the examination. Thank you, viscount,” continued the prince, laughing, “and I appoint you from this moment my interpreter.”