"Bueno! Your hand. And whither go you?"
"On duty."
"Where—to whom?"
"That is my secret," retorted Quentin, laughing. But a dark expression began to gather in the Spaniard's face, and he looked searchingly at the young volunteer.
"Are you going to the front?" he asked.
"Yes, senor."
"Strange!"
"How so?"
"The British troops have not yet begun to cross the frontier into Spain. They are still in quarters."
"Yes."