"Well, but, Monsieur, who are you?"
"Who am I?"
"Yes."
"Didn't they tell you? A Peruvian nobleman, or a Spanish nobleman, I don't know which. In short, Don Luis Perenna."
"Bunkum! I've just heard"
"Don Luis Perenna, late of the Foreign Legion."
"Enough of that, Monsieur"
"Medaled and decorated with a stripe on every seam."
"Once more, Monsieur, enough of that; and come along with me to the Prefect."
"But, let me finish, hang it! I was saying, late private in the Foreign Legion.… Late hero.… Late prisoner of the Sureté.… Late Russian prince.… Late chief of the detective service.… Late"
"But you're mad!" snarled the sergeant. "What's all this story?"
"It's a true story, Sergeant, and quite genuine. You ask me who I am; and I'm telling you categorically. Must I go farther back? I have still more titles to offer you: marquis, baron, duke, archduke, grand-duke, petty-duke, superduke—the whole 'Almanach de Gotha,' by Jingo! If any one told me that I had been a king, by all that's holy, I shouldn't dare swear to the contrary!"
Sergeant Mazeroux put out his own hands, accustomed to rough work, seized the seemingly frail wrists of the man addressing him and said:
"No nonsense, now. I don't know whom I've got hold of, but I shan't let you go. You can say what you have to say at the Prefect's."
