nized 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?"

"Well then, keep to yourself where and how we first met each other. Don't
interrupt me. I'll tell you later in my tent, where you must take up your
quarters, how I gained my name, and what I have experienced in life.
Don't show your surprise, and keep calm. I, Ulrich, the boy from the
Black Forest, am the man you seek, I am Navarrete."

"You?" asked the lansquenet, opening his eyes in amazement. "Nonsense!
You're paying me off for the yarns I told you just now."

No, Hans Eitelfritz, no! I am not jesting, I mean it. I am Navarrete! Nay
more! If you keep your mouth shut, and the devil doesn't put his finger
into the pie, I think, spite of all the Zorrillos, I shall be Eletto
to-morrow.

"You know the Spanish temper! The German Ulrich will be a very different
person to them from the Castilian Navarrete. It is in your power to spoil
my chance."

The other interrupted him by a peal of loud, joyous laughter, then
shouted to the dog: "Up, Lelaps! My respects to Caballero Navarrete."

The Spaniards frowned, for they thought the German was drunk, but Hans
Eitelfritz needed more liquor than that to upset his sobriety.

Flashing a mischievous glance at Ulrich from his bright eyes, he
whispered: "If necessary, I too can be silent. You man without a country!
You soldier of fortune! A Swabian the commander of these stiffnecked
braggarts. Now see how I'll help you."

"What do you mean to do?" asked Ulrich; but Hans Eitelfritz had already
raised the huge goblet, banging it down again so violently that the table
shook. Then he struck the top with his clenched fist, and when the
Spaniards fixed their eyes on him, shouted in their language: "Yes,
indeed, it was delightful in those days, Caballero Navarrete. Your uncle,
the noble Conde in what's its name, that place in Castile, you know, and
the Condesa and Condesilla. Splendid people! Do you remember the
coal-black horses with s