“Man, man!” exclaimed Ulrich, striking his clenched fist on the table.
“Do you suppose a dog can’t scent a spring?” asked Eitelfritz, with comical wrath. “Lelaps here was born in Africa, the native land of tigers, and his mother....”
“I thought you got him in Tubingen?”
“I said just now that I tell lies. I imposed upon you, when I made you think Lelaps came from Swabia; he was really born in the desert, where the tigers live.
“No offence, Herr Ulrich! We’ll keep our jests for another evening. As soon as I’m knocked down, I stop my nonsense. Now tell me, where shall I find Navarrete, the standard-bearer, the hero of Lepanto and Schouwen? He must be a bold fellow; they say Zorrillo and he....”
The lansquenet had spoken loudly; the quartermaster, who caught the name Navarrete, turned, and his eyes met Ulrich’s.
He must be on his guard against this man.
The instant Zorrillo recognized him as a German, he would hold a powerful weapon. The Spaniards would give the command only to a Spaniard.
This thought now occurred to him for the first time. It had needed the meeting with Hans Eitelfritz, to remind him that he belonged to a different nation from his comrades. Here was a danger to be encountered, so with the rapid decision, acquired in the school of war, he laid his hand heavily on his countryman’s, saying in a low, impressive tone: “You are my friend, Hans Eitelfritz, and have no wish to injure me.”
“Zounds, no! What’s up?”