“A traveller,” said I, trying to look majestic and indignant.
“So I see; and of what nation?”
“Of that nation which no man insults with impunity.”
“Russia?”
“No; certainly not,—England.”
“Whence from last?”
“From Bregenz.”
“And from Constance by Lindau?” asked he quickly, as he read from a slip of paper he had Just drawn from his belt.
I assented, but not without certain misgivings, as I saw so much was known as to my movements.
“Now for your passport. Let me see it,” said the corporal again. “Just so,” said he, folding it up. “Travelling on foot, and marked 'suspected.'”