“Yes, my lord.”
“Ah, that is true,” said De Guiche; “I had forgotten it.”
“That is easily understood; it was you who took him, count,”
said Raoul, smiling.
The old marshal turned toward the viscount, grateful for
that praise of his son, whilst the prince exclaimed:
“The young man is right; let the prisoner be brought in.”
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.
Page 236
Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“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.”
But the prisoner was not less unwilling to respond in
Italian than in the other languages; his aim was to elude
the examination. Therefore, he knew nothing either of the
enemy’s numbers, or of those in command, or of the purpose
of the army.
Page 237
Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“Very good,” said the prince, understanding the reason of
that ignorance; “the man was caught in the act of
assassination and robbery; he might have purchased his life
by speaking; he doesn’t wish to speak. Take him out and
shoot him.”
The prisoner turned pale. The two soldiers who had brought
him in took him, each by one arm, and led him toward the
door, whilst the prince, turning to Marshal de Grammont,
seemed to have already forgotten the order he had given.
When he reached the threshold of the door the prisoner
stopped. The soldiers, who knew only their orders, attempted
to force him along.
“One moment,” said the prisoner, in French. “I am ready to