Then the Basque—
Carpalim, Pantagruel's valet, thought he caught something familiar here, but the stranger went on as if nothing had been said.
In a rattling unknown language—
"Do you speak a Christian tongue, my friend, or do you make your lingo as you go along?" asked Epistemon, who was beginning to get rather tired.
Then in Dutch—
"Quite as bad as the others!" muttered Pantagruel under his breath.
Then in Spanish—
"See here, my friend," retorted Pantagruel, who in his turn was getting tired, "I have not the slightest doubt that you are master of various languages. But all I ask is that you should tell us what you want to say in some tongue which we can understand."
Then in Danish—
"I think," said Eusthenes, "the old Goths must have spoken that way."