Myself. - I am an Englishman. Here is my passport, and I came to
see Finisterra.
This reply seemed to discomfit them for a moment. They looked at
each other, then at my passport. At length the alcalde, striking
it with his finger, bellowed forth:
"This is no Spanish passport; it appears to be written in French."
Myself. - I have already told you that I am a foreigner. I of
course carry a foreign passport.
Alcalde. - Then you mean to assert that you are not Calros Rey.
Myself. - I never heard before of such a king, nor indeed of such a
name.
Alcalde. - Hark to the fellow: he has the audacity to say that he
has never heard of Calros the pretender, who calls himself king.
Myself. - If you mean by Calros, the pretender Don Carlos, all I can
reply is, that you can scarcely be serious. You might as well
assert that yonder poor fellow, my guide, whom I see you have made
prisoner, is his nephew, the infante Don Sebastian.
Alcalde. - See, you have betrayed yourself; that is the very person
we suppose him to be.
Myself. - It is true that they are both hunchbacks. But how can I
be like Don Carlos? I have nothing the appearance of a Spaniard,
and am nearly a foot taller than the pretender.
