"Unlocked!" bawled the Count. "What does this mean, Baron?"
"He gave his word as a gentleman," was the quiet reply.
"Gentleman? Ach! I'll take a look at the gentleman," said the Count, stepping up to the pallet and shaking me roughly by the shoulder. "Wake up!"
I sat up so as not to miss the comedy which was about to set its scenes upon the grim visage of the Count. As his eyes met mine his jaw fell.
"A thousand devils! Who are you?"
"I couldn't swear," said I, meekly. "Everybody hereabouts insists that
I am some one else. The situation warrants a complete explanation.
Perhaps you can give it?" I should have laughed but for those flashing
eyes.
"You are a blockhead," he said to his subaltern.
"He is the man, according to your London correspondent," responded the other with some show of temper. "I cannot see that the fault lies at my door. You told me that he would enter the country under an assumed name."
"I presume the affair is ended so far as I am concerned," I said, shaking the lameness from my legs.
"Of course, of course!" replied the Count, pulling at his gray mustaches, which flared out on either side like the whiskers of a cat.