“Carajo! caballeros, why don’t you strip before entering the baño?”
“What is it?” cried a soldier, coming up and stopping us.
A group of his comrades joined him, and we were hurried into the light.
“Mil diablos!” exclaimed one of the soldiers, recognising Raoul; “our old friend the Frenchman! Parlez-vous français, Monsieur?”
“Spies!” cried another.
“Arrest them!” shouted a sergeant of the guard, at the moment coming up with a patrol, and we were both jumped upon and held by about a dozen men.
In vain Raoul protested our innocence, declaring that we were only two poor fishermen, who had wet our clothes in drawing the nets.
“It’s not a fisherman’s costume, Monsieur,” said one.
“Fishermen don’t usually wear diamonds on their knuckles,” cried another, snatching a ring from my finger.
On this ring, inside the circlet, were engraven my name and rank!