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The Prisoner of Zenda, by Anthony Hope



CHAPTER 1


The Rassendylls--With a Word on the Elphbergs


"I wonder when in the world you're going to do
anything, Rudolf?" said my brother's wife.

"My dear Rose," I answered, laying down my
egg-spoon, "why in the world should I do anything?
My position is a comfortable one.  I have an
income nearly sufficient for my wants (no one's
income is ever quite sufficient, you know), I
enjoy an enviable social position:  I am brother
to Lord Burlesdon, and brother-in-law to that
charming lady, his countess.  Behold, it is
enough!"

"You are nine-and-twenty," she observed, "and
you've done nothing but--"

"Knock about?  It is true.  Our family doesn't
need to do things."

This remark of mine rather annoyed Rose, for
everybody knows (and therefore there can be no
harm in referring to the fact) that, pretty and
accomplished as she herself is, her family is
hardly of the same standing as the Rassendylls.
Besides her attractions, she possessed a large
fortune, and my brother Robert was wise enough not
to mind about her ancestry.  Ancestry is, in fact,
a matter concerning which the next observation of
Rose's has some truth.

"Good families are generally worse than any
others," she said.

Upon this I stroked my hair:  I knew quite well
what she meant.

"I'm so glad Robert's is black!" she cried.

At this moment Robert (who rises at seven and
works before breakfast) came in.  He glanced at
his wife:  her cheek was slightly flushed; he
patted it caressingly.

"What's the matter, my dear?" he asked.

"She objects to my doing nothing and having red
hair," said I, in an injured tone.

"Oh!  of course he can't help his hair," admitted
Rose.

"It generally crops out once in a generation,"
said my brother.  "So does the nose.  Rudolf has
got them both."

"I wish they didn't crop out," said Rose, still
flushed.

"I rather like them myself," said I, and, rising,
I bowed to the portrait of Countess Amelia.

My brother's wife uttered an exclamation of
impatience.

"I wish you'd take that picture away, Robert,"
said she.

"My dear!" he cried.

"Good heavens!" I added.

"Then it might be forgotten," she continued.

"Hardly--with Rudolf about," said Robert, shaking
his head.

"Why should it be forgotten?" I asked.

"Rudolf!" exclaimed my brother's wife, blushing
very prettily.

I laughed, and went on with my egg.  At least I
had shelved the question of what (if anything) I
ought to do.  And, by way of closing the
discussion--and also, I must admit, of
exasperating my strict little sister-in-law a
trifle more--I observed:

"I rather like being an Elphberg myself."

When I read a story, I skip the explanations; yet
the moment I begin to write one, I find that I
must have an explanation.  For it is manifest that
I must explain why my sister-in-law was vexed with
my nose and hair, and why I ventured to call
myself an Elphberg.  For eminent as, I must
protest, the Rassendylls have been for many
generations, yet participation in their blood of
course does not, at first sight, justify the boast
of a connection with the grander stock of the
Elphbergs or a claim to be one of that Royal
House.  For what relationship is there between
Ruritania and Burlesdon, between the Palace at
Strelsau or the Castle of Zenda and Number 305
Park Lane, W.?

Well then--and I must premise that I am going,
perforce, to rake up the very scandal which my
dear Lady Burlesdon wishes forgotten--in the year
1733, George II sitting then on the throne, peace
reigning for the moment, and the King and the
Prince of Wales being not yet at loggerheads,
there came on a visit to the English Court a
certain prince, who was afterwards known to
history as Rudolf the Third of Ruritania.  The
prince was a tall, handsome young fellow, marked
(maybe marred, it is not for me to say) by a
somewhat unusually long, sharp and straight nose,
and a mass of dark-red hair--in fact, the nose and
the hair which have stamped the Elphbergs time out
of mind.  He stayed some months in England, where
he was most courteously received; yet, in the end,
he left rather under a cloud.  For he fought a
duel (it was considered highly well bred of him to
waive all question of his rank) with a nobleman,
well known in the society of the day, not only for
his own merits, but as the husband of a very
beautiful wife.  In that duel Prince Rudolf
received a severe wound, and, recovering
therefrom, was adroitly smuggled off by the
Ruritanian ambassador, who had found him a pretty
handful.  The nobleman was not wounded in the
duel; but the morning being raw and damp on the
occasion of the meeting, he contracted a severe
chill, and, failing to throw it off, he died some
six months after the departure of Prince Rudolf,
without having found leisure to adjust his
relations with his wife--who, after another two
months, bore an heir to the title and estates of
the family of Burlesdon.  This lady was the
Countess Amelia, whose picture my sister-in-law
wished to remove from the drawing-room in Park
Lane; and her husband was James, fifth Earl of
Burlesdon and twenty-second Baron Rassendyll, both
in the peerage of England, and a Knight of the
Garter.  As for Rudolf, he went back to Ruritania,
married a wife, and ascended the throne, whereon
his progeny in the direct line have sat from then
till this very hour--with one short interval.
And, finally, if you walk through the picture
galleries at Burlesdon, among the fifty portraits
or so of the last century and a half, you will
find five or six, including that of the sixth
earl, distinguished by long, sharp, straight noses
and a quantity of dark-red hair; these five or six
have also blue eyes, whereas among the Rassendylls
dark eyes are the commoner.

That is the explanation, and I am glad to have
finished it:  the blemishes on honourable lineage
are a delicate subject, and certainly this
heredity we hear so much about is the finest
scandalmonger in the world; it laughs at
discretion, and writes strange entries between the
lines of the "Peerages".

It will be observed that my sister-in-law, with a
want of logic that must have been peculiar to
herself (since we are no longer allowed to lay it
to the charge of her sex), treated my complexion
almost as an offence for which I was responsible,
hastening to assume from that external sign inward
qualities of which I protest my entire innocence;
and this unjust inference she sought to buttress
by pointing to the uselessness of the life I had
led.  Well, be that as it may, I had picked up a
good deal of pleasure and a good deal of
knowledge.  I had been to a German school and a
German university, and spoke German as readily and
perfectly as English; I was thoroughly at home in
French; I had a smattering of Italian and enough
Spanish to swear by.  I was, I believe, a strong,
though hardly fine swordsman and a good shot.  I
could ride anything that had a back to sit on; and
my head was as cool a one as you could find, for
all its flaming cover.  If you say that I ought to
have spent my time in useful labour, I am out of
Court and have nothing to say, save that my
parents had no business to leave me two thousand
pounds a year and a roving disposition.

"The difference between you and Robert," said my
sister-in-law, who often (bless her!) speaks on a
platform, and oftener still as if she were on one,
"is that he recognizes the duties of his position,
and you see the opportunities of yours."

"To a man of spirit, my dear Rose," I answered,
"opportunities are duties."

"Nonsense!" said she, tossing her head; and after
a moment she went on:  "Now, here's Sir Jacob
Borrodaile offering you exactly what you might be
equal to."

"A thousand thanks!" I murmured.

"He's to have an Embassy in six months, and Robert
says he is sure that he'll take you as an attache.
Do take it, Rudolf-- to please me."

Now, when my sister-in-law puts the matter in that
way, wrinkling her pretty brows, twisting her
little hands, and growing wistful in the eyes, all
on account of an idle scamp like myself, for whom
she has no natural responsibility, I am visited
with compunction.  Moreover, I thought it possible
that I could pass the time in the position
suggested with some tolerable amusement.
Therefore I said:

"My dear sister, if in six months' time no
unforeseen obstacle has arisen, and Sir Jacob
invites me, hang me if I don't go with Sir Jacob!"

"Oh, Rudolf, how good of you!  I am glad!"

"Where's he going to?"

"He doesn't know yet; but it's sure to be a good
Embassy."

"Madame," said I, "for your sake I'll go, if it's
no more than a beggarly Legation.  When I do a
thing, I don't do it by halves."

My promise, then, was given; but six months are
six months, and seem an eternity, and, inasmuch as
they stretched between me and my prospective
industry (I suppose attaches are industrious; but
I know not, for I never became attache to Sir
Jacob or anybody else), I cast about for some
desirable mode of spending them.  And it occurred
to me suddenly that I would visit Ruritania.  It
may seem strange that I had never visited that
country yet; but my father (in spite of a sneaking
fondness for the Elphbergs, which led him to give
me, his second son, the famous Elphberg name of
Rudolf) had always been averse from my going, and,
since his death, my brother, prompted by Rose, had
accepted the family tradition which taught that a
wide berth was to be given to that country.  But
the moment Ruritania had come into my head I was
eaten up with a curiosity to see it.  After all,
red hair and long noses are not confined to the
House of Elphberg, and the old story seemed a
preposterously insufficient reason for debarring
myself from acquaintance with a highly interesting
and important kingdom, one which had played no
small part in European history, and might do the
like again under the sway of a young and vigorous
ruler, such as the new King was rumoured to be.
My determination was clinched by reading in The
Times that Rudolf the Fifth was to be crowned at
Strelsau in the course of the next three weeks,
and that great magnificence was to mark the
occasion.  At once I made up my mind to be
present, and began my preparations.  But, inasmuch
as it has never been my practice to furnish my
relatives with an itinerary of my journeys and in
this case I anticipated opposition to my wishes, I
gave out that I was going for a ramble in the
Tyrol-- an old haunt of mine--and propitiated
Rose's wrath by declaring that I intended to study
the political and social problems of the
interesting community which dwells in that
neighbourhood.

"Perhaps," I hinted darkly, "there may be an
outcome of the expedition."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well,"said I carelessly, "there seems a gap that
might be filled by an exhaustive work on--"

"Oh!  will you write a book?" she cried, clapping
her hands.  "That would be splendid, wouldn't it,
Robert?"

"It's the best of introductions to political life
nowadays," observed my brother, who has, by the
way, introduced himself in this manner several
times over.  Burlesdon on Ancient Theories and
Modern Facts and The Ultimate Outcome, by a
Political Student, are both works of recognized
eminence.

"I believe you are right, Bob, my boy," said I.

"Now promise you'll do it," said Rose earnestly.

"No, I won't promise; but if I find enough
material, I will."

"That's fair enough," said Robert.

"Oh, material doesn't matter!" she said, pouting.

But this time she could get no more than a
qualified promise out of me.  To tell the truth, I
would have wagered a handsome sum that the story
of my expedition that summer would stain no paper
and spoil not a single pen.  And that shows how
little we know what the future holds; for here I
am, fulfilling my qualified promise, and writing,
as I never thought to write, a book--though it
will hardly serve as an introduction to political
life, and has not a jot to do with the Tyrol.

Neither would it, I fear, please Lady Burlesdon,
if I were to submit it to her critical eye--a step
which I have no intention of taking.




CHAPTER 2


Concerning the Colour of Men's Hair


It was a maxim of my Uncle William's that no man
should pass through Paris without spending
four-and-twenty hours there.  My uncle spoke out
of a ripe experience of the world, and I honoured
his advice by putting up for a day and a night at
"The Continental" on my way to--the Tyrol.  I
called on George Featherly at the Embassy, and we
had a bit of dinner together at Durand's, and
afterwards dropped in to the Opera; and after that
we had a little supper, and after that we called
on Bertram Bertrand, a versifier of some repute
and Paris correspondent to The Critic.  He had a
very comfortable suite of rooms, and we found some
pleasant fellows smoking and talking.  It struck
me, however, that Bertram himself was absent and
in low spirits, and when everybody except
ourselves had gone, I rallied him on his moping
preoccupation.  He fenced with me for a while, but
at last, flinging himself on a sofa, he exclaimed:

"Very well; have it your own way.  I am in
love--infernally in love!"

"Oh, you'll write the better poetry," said I, by
way of consolation.

He ruffled his hair with his hand and smoked
furiously.  George Featherly, standing with his
back to the mantelpiece, smiled unkindly.

"If it's the old affair," said he, "you may as
well throw it up, Bert.  She's leaving Paris
tomorrow."

"I know that," snapped Bertram.

"Not that it would make any difference if she
stayed," pursued the relentless George.  "She
flies higher than the paper trade, my boy!"

"Hang her!" said Bertram.

"It would make it more interesting for me," I
ventured to observe, "if I knew who you were
talking about."

"Antoinette Mauban," said George.

"De Mauban," growled Bertram.

"Oho!" said I, passing by the question of the
`de'.  "You don't mean to say, Bert--?"

"Can't you let me alone?"

"Where's she going to?" I asked, for the lady was
something of a celebrity.

George jingled his money, smiled cruelly at poor
Bertram, and answered pleasantly:

"Nobody knows.  By the way, Bert, I met a great
man at her house the other night--at least, about
a month ago.  Did you ever meet him--the Duke of
Strelsau?"

"Yes, I did," growled Bertram.

"An extremely accomplished man, I thought him."

It was not hard to see that George's references to
the duke were intended to aggravate poor Bertram's
sufferings, so that I drew the inference that the
duke had distinguished Madame de Mauban by his
attentions.  She was a widow, rich, handsome, and,
according to repute, ambitious.  It was quite
possible that she, as George put it, was flying as
high as a personage who was everything he could
be, short of enjoying strictly royal rank:  for
the duke was the son of the late King of Ruritania
by a second and morganatic marriage, and
half-brother to the new King.  He had been his
father's favourite, and it had occasioned some
unfavourable comment when he had been created a
duke, with a title derived from no less a city
than the capital itself.  His mother had been of
good, but not exalted, birth.

"He's not in Paris now, is he?" I asked.

"Oh no!  He's gone back to be present at the
King's coronation; a ceremony which, I should say,
he'll not enjoy much.  But, Bert, old man, don't
despair!  He won't marry the fair Antoinette-- at
least, not unless another plan comes to nothing.
Still perhaps she--" He paused and added, with a
laugh:  "Royal attentions are hard to resist--you
know that, don't you, Rudolf?"

"Confound you!" said I; and rising, I left the
hapless Bertram in George's hands and went home to
bed.

The next day George Featherly went with me to the
station, where I took a ticket for Dresden.

"Going to see the pictures?" asked George, with a
grin.

George is an inveterate gossip, and had I told him
that I was off to Ruritania, the news would have
been in London in three days and in Park Lane in a
week.  I was, therefore, about to return an
evasive answer, when he saved my conscience by
leaving me suddenly and darting across the
platform.  Following him with my eyes, I saw him
lift his hat and accost a graceful, fashionably
dressed woman who had just appeared from the
booking-office.  She was, perhaps, a year or two
over thirty, tall, dark, and of rather full
figure.  As George talked, I saw her glance at me,
and my vanity was hurt by the thought that,
muffled in a fur coat and a neck-wrapper (for it
was a chilly April day) and wearing a soft
travelling hat pulled down to my ears, I must be
looking very far from my best.  A moment later,
George rejoined me.

"You've got a charming travelling companion," he
said.  "That's poor Bert Bertrand's goddess,
Antoinette de Mauban, and, like you, she's going
to Dresden--also, no doubt, to see the pictures.
It's very queer, though, that she doesn't at
present desire the honour of your acquaintance."

"I didn't ask to be introduced," I observed, a
little annoyed.

"Well, I offered to bring you to her; but she
said, "Another time." Never mind, old fellow,
perhaps there'll be a smash, and you'll have a
chance of rescuing her and cutting out the Duke of
Strelsau!"

No smash, however, happened, either to me or to
Madame de Mauban.  I can speak for her as
confidently as for myself; for when, after a
night's rest in Dresden, I continued my journey,
she got into the same train.  Understanding that
she wished to be let alone, I avoided her
carefully, but I saw that she went the same way as
I did to the very end of my journey, and I took
opportunities of having a good look at her, when I
could do so unobserved.

As soon as we reached the Ruritanian frontier
(where the old officer who presided over the
Custom House favoured me with such a stare that I
felt surer than before of my Elphberg
physiognomy), I bought the papers, and found in
them news which affected my movements.  For some
reason, which was not clearly explained, and
seemed to be something of a mystery, the date of
the coronation had been suddenly advanced, and the
ceremony was to take place on the next day but
one.  The whole country seemed in a stir about it,
and it was evident that Strelsau was thronged.
Rooms were all let and hotels overflowing; there
would be very little chance of my obtaining a
lodging, and I should certainly have to pay an
exorbitant charge for it.  I made up my mind to
stop at Zenda, a small town fifty miles short of
the capital, and about ten from the frontier.  My
train reached there in the evening; I would spend
the next day, Tuesday, in a wander over the hills,
which were said to be very fine, and in taking a
glance at the famous Castle, and go over by train
to Strelsau on the Wednesday morning, returning at
night to sleep at Zenda.

Accordingly at Zenda I got out, and as the train
passed where I stood on the platform, I saw my
friend Madame de Mauban in her place; clearly she
was going through to Strelsau, having, with more
providence than I could boast, secured apartments
there.  I smiled to think how surprised George
Featherly would have been to know that she and I
had been fellow travellers for so long.

I was very kindly received at the hotel--it was
really no more than an inn--kept by a fat old lady
and her two daughters.  They were good, quiet
people, and seemed very little interested in the
great doings at Strelsau.  The old lady's hero was
the duke, for he was now, under the late King's
will, master of the Zenda estates and of the
Castle, which rose grandly on its steep hill at
the end of the valley a mile or so from the inn.
The old lady, indeed, did not hesitate to express
regret that the duke was not on the throne,
instead of his brother.

"We know Duke Michael," said she.  "He has always
lived among us; every Ruritanian knows Duke
Michael.  But the King is almost a stranger; he
has been so much abroad, not one in ten knows him
even by sight."

"And now," chimed in one of the young women, "they
say he has shaved off his beard, so that no one at
all knows him."

"Shaved his beard!" exclaimed her mother.  "Who
says so?"

"Johann, the duke's keeper.  He has seen the
King."

"Ah, yes.  The King, sir, is now at the duke's
hunting-lodge in the forest here; from here he
goes to Strelsau to be crowned on Wednesday
morning."

I was interested to hear this, and made up my mind
to walk next day in the direction of the lodge, on
the chance of coming across the King.  The old
lady ran on garrulously:

"Ah, and I wish he would stay at his hunting--that
and wine (and one thing more) are all he loves,
they say--and suffer our duke to be crowned on
Wednesday.  That I wish, and I don't care who
knows it."

"Hush, mother!" urged the daughters.

"Oh, there's many to think as I do!" cried the old
woman stubbornly.

I threw myself back in my deep armchair, and
laughed at her zeal.

"For my part," said the younger and prettier of
the two daughters, a fair, buxom, smiling wench,
"I hate Black Michael!  A red Elphberg for me,
mother!  The King, they say, is as red as a fox or
as--"

And she laughed mischievously as she cast a glance
at me, and tossed her head at her sister's
reproving face.

"Many a man has cursed their red hair before now,"
muttered the old lady--and I remembered James,
fifth Earl of Burlesdon.

"But never a woman!" cried the girl.

"Ay, and women, when it was too late," was the
stern answer, reducing the girl to silence and
blushes.

"How comes the King here?" I asked, to break an
embarrassed silence.  "It is the duke's land here,
you say."

"The duke invited him, sir, to rest here till
Wednesday.  The duke is at Strelsau, preparing the
King's reception."

"Then they're friends?"

"None better," said the old lady.

But my rosy damsel tossed her head again; she was
not to be repressed for long, and she broke out
again:

"Ay, they love one another as men do who want the
same place and the same wife!"

The old woman glowered; but the last words pricked
my curiosity, and I interposed before she could
begin scolding:

"What, the same wife, too!  How's that, young
lady?"

"All the world knows that Black Michael--well
then, mother, the duke--would give his soul to
marry his cousin, the Princess Flavia, and that
she is to be the queen."

"Upon my word," said I, "I begin to be sorry for
your duke.  But if a man will be a younger son,
why he must take what the elder leaves, and be as
thankful to God as he can;" and, thinking of
myself, I shrugged my shoulders and laughed.  And
then I thought also of Antoinette de Mauban and
her journey to Strelsau.

"It's little dealing Black Michael has with--"
began the girl, braving her mother's anger; but as
she spoke a heavy step sounded on the floor, and a
gruff voice asked in a threatening tone:

"Who talks of "Black Michael" in his Highness's
own burgh?"

The girl gave a little shriek, half of
fright--half, I think, of amusement.

"You'll not tell of me, Johann?" she said.

"See where your chatter leads," said the old lady.

The man who had spoken came forward.

"We have company, Johann," said my hostess, and
the fellow plucked off his cap.  A moment later he
saw me, and, to my amazement, he started back a
step, as though he had seen something wonderful.

"What ails you, Johann?" asked the elder girl.
"This is a gentleman on his travels, come to see
the coronation."

The man had recovered himself, but he was staring
at me with an intense, searching, almost fierce
glance.

"Good evening to you," said I.

"Good evening, sir," he muttered, still
scrutinizing me, and the merry girl began to laugh
as she called--

"See, Johann, it is the colour you love!  He
started to see your hair, sir.  It's not the
colour we see most of here in Zenda."

"I crave your pardon, sir," stammered the fellow,
with puzzled eyes.  "I expected to see no one."

"Give him a glass to drink my health in; and I'll
bid you good night, and thanks to you, ladies, for
your courtesy and pleasant conversation."

So speaking, I rose to my feet, and with a slight
bow turned to the door.  The young girl ran to
light me on the way, and the man fell back to let
me pass, his eyes still fixed on me.  The moment I
was by, he started a step forward, asking:

"Pray, sir, do you know our King?"

"I never saw him," said I.  "I hope to do so on
Wednesday."

He said no more, but I felt his eyes following me
till the door closed behind me.  My saucy
conductor, looking over her shoulder at me as she
preceded me upstairs, said:

"There's no pleasing Master Johann for one of your
colour, sir."

"He prefers yours, maybe?" I suggested.

"I meant, sir, in a man," she answered, with a
coquettish glance.

"What," asked I, taking hold of the other side of
the candlestick, "does colour matter in a man?"

"Nay, but I love yours--it's the Elphberg red."

"Colour in a man," said I, "is a matter of no more
moment than that!' --and I gave her something of
no value.

"God send the kitchen door be shut!" said she.

"Amen!" said I, and left her.

In fact, however, as I now know, colour is
sometimes of considerable moment to a man.




CHAPTER 3


A Merry Evening with a Distant Relative


I was not so unreasonable as to be prejudiced
against the duke's keeper because he disliked my
complexion; and if I had been, his most civil and
obliging conduct (as it seemed to me to be) next
morning would have disarmed me.  Hearing that I
was bound for Strelsau, he came to see me while I
was breakfasting, and told me that a sister of his
who had married a well-to-do tradesman and lived
in the capital, had invited him to occupy a room
in her house.  He had gladly accepted, but now
found that his duties would not permit of his
absence.  He begged therefore that, if such humble
(though, as he added, clean and comfortable)
lodgings would satisfy me, I would take his place.
He pledged his sister's acquiescence, and urged
the inconvenience and crowding to which I should
be subject in my journeys to and from Strelsau the
next day.  I accepted his offer without a moment's
hesitation, and he went off to telegraph to his
sister, while I packed up and prepared to take the
next train.  But I still hankered after the forest
and the hunting-lodge, and when my little maid
told me that I could, by walking ten miles or so
through the forest, hit the railway at a roadside
station, I decided to send my luggage direct to
the address which Johann had given, take my walk,
and follow to Strelsau myself.  Johann had gone
off and was not aware of the change in my plans;
but, as its only effect was to delay my arrival at
his sister's for a few hours, there was no reason
for troubling to inform him of it.  Doubtless the
good lady would waste no anxiety on my account.

I took an early luncheon, and, having bidden my
kind entertainers farewell, promising to return to
them on my way home, I set out to climb the hill
that led to the Castle, and thence to the forest
of Zenda.  Half an hour's leisurely walking
brought me to the Castle.  It had been a fortress
in old days, and the ancient keep was still in
good preservation and very imposing.  Behind it
stood another portion of the original castle, and
behind that again, and separated from it by a deep
and broad moat, which ran all round the old
buildings, was a handsome modern chateau, erected
by the last king, and now forming the country
residence of the Duke of Strelsau.  The old and
the new portions were connected by a drawbridge,
and this indirect mode of access formed the only
passage between the old building and the outer
world; but leading to the modern chateau there was
a broad and handsome avenue.  It was an ideal
residence:  when "Black Michael" desired company,
he could dwell in his chateau; if a fit of
misanthropy seized him, he had merely to cross the
bridge and draw it up after him (it ran on
rollers), and nothing short of a regiment and a
train of artillery could fetch him out.  I went on
my way, glad that poor Black Michael, though he
could not have the throne or the princess, had, at
least, as fine a residence as any prince in
Europe.

Soon I entered the forest, and walked on for an
hour or more in its cool sombre shade.  The great
trees enlaced with one another over my head, and
the sunshine stole through in patches as bright as
diamonds, and hardly bigger.  I was enchanted with
the place, and, finding a felled tree-trunk,
propped my back against it, and stretching my legs
out gave myself up to undisturbed contemplation of
the solemn beauty of the woods and to the comfort
of a good cigar.  And when the cigar was finished
and I had (I suppose) inhaled as much beauty as I
could, I went off into the most delightful sleep,
regardless of my train to Strelsau and of the
fast-waning afternoon.  To remember a train in
such a spot would have been rank sacrilege.
Instead of that, I fell to dreaming that I was
married to the Princess Flavia and dwelt in the
Castle of Zenda, and beguiled whole days with my
love in the glades of the forest--which made a
very pleasant dream.  In fact, I was just
impressing a fervent kiss on the charming lips of
the princess, when I heard (and the voice seemed
at first a part of the dream) someone exclaim, in
rough strident tones.

"Why, the devil's in it!  Shave him, and he'd be
the King!"

The idea seemed whimsical enough for a dream:  by
the sacrifice of my heavy moustache and carefully
pointed imperial, I was to be transformed into a
monarch!  I was about to kiss the princess again,
when I arrived (very reluctantly) at the
conclusion that I was awake.

I opened my eyes, and found two men regarding me
with much curiosity.  Both wore shooting costumes
and carried guns.  One was rather short and very
stoutly built, with a big bullet-shaped head, a
bristly grey moustache, and small pale-blue eyes,
a trifle bloodshot.  The other was a slender young
fellow, of middle height, dark in complexion, and
bearing himself with grace and distinction.  I set
the one down as an old soldier:  the other for a
gentleman accustomed to move in good society, but
not unused to military life either.  It turned out
afterwards that my guess was a good one.

The elder man approached me, beckoning the younger
to follow.  He did so, courteously raising his
hat.  I rose slowly to my feet.

"He's the height, too!" I heard the elder murmur,
as he surveyed my six feet two inches of stature.
Then, with a cavalier touch of the cap, he
addressed me:

"May I ask your name?"

"As you have taken the first step in the
acquaintance, gentlemen," said I, with a smile,
"suppose you give me a lead in the matter of
names."

The young man stepped forward with a pleasant
smile.

"This," said he, "is Colonel Sapt, and I am called
Fritz von Tarlenheim:  we are both in the service
of the King of Ruritania."

I bowed and, baring my head, answered:

"I am Rudolf Rassendyll.  I am a traveller from
England; and once for a year or two I held a
commission from her Majesty the Queen."

"Then we are all brethren of the sword," answered
Tarlenheim, holding out his hand, which I took
readily.

"Rassendyll, Rassendyll!" muttered Colonel Sapt;
then a gleam of intelligence flitted across his
face.

"By Heaven!" he cried, "you're of the Burlesdons?"

"My brother is now Lord Burlesdon," said I.

"Thy head betrayeth thee," he chuckled, pointing
to my uncovered poll.  "Why, Fritz, you know the
story?"

The young man glanced apologetically at me.  He
felt a delicacy which my sister-in-law would have
admired.  To put him at his ease, I remarked with
a smile:

"Ah!  the story is known here as well as among us,
it seems."

"Known!" cried Sapt.  "If you stay here, the deuce
a man in all Ruritania will doubt of it--or a
woman either."

I began to feel uncomfortable.  Had I realized
what a very plainly written pedigree I carried
about with me, I should have thought long before I
visited Ruritania.  However, I was in for it now.

At this moment a ringing voice sounded from the
wood behind us:

"Fritz, Fritz!  where are you, man?"

Tarlenheim started, and said hastily:

"It's the King!"

Old Sapt chuckled again.

Then a young man jumped out from behind the trunk
of a tree and stood beside us.  As I looked at
him, I uttered an astonished cry; and he, seeing
me, drew back in sudden wonder.  Saving the hair
on my face and a manner of conscious dignity which
his position gave him, saving also that he lacked
perhaps half an inch--nay, less than that, but
still something--of my height, the King of
Ruritania might have been Rudolf Rassendyll, and
I, Rudolf, the King.

For an instant we stood motionless, looking at one
another.  Then I bared my head again and bowed
respectfully.  The King found his voice, and asked
in bewilderment:

"Colonel--Fritz--who is this gentleman?"

I was about to answer, when Colonel Sapt stepped
between the King and me, and began to talk to his
Majesty in a low growl.  The King towered over
Sapt, and, as he listened, his eyes now and again
sought mine.  I looked at him long and carefully.
The likeness was certainly astonishing, though I
saw the points of difference also.  The King's
face was slightly more fleshy than mine, the oval
of its contour the least trifle more pronounced,
and, as I fancied, his mouth lacking something of
the firmness (or obstinacy) which was to be
gathered from my close-shutting lips.  But, for
all that, and above all minor distinctions, the
likeness rose striking, salient, wonderful.

Sapt ceased speaking, and the King still frowned.
Then, gradually, the corners of his mouth began to
twitch, his nose came down (as mine does when I
laugh), his eyes twinkled, and, behold!  he burst
into the merriest fit of irrepressible laughter,
which rang through the woods and proclaimed him a
jovial soul.

"Well met, cousin!" he cried, stepping up to me,
clapping me on the back, and laughing still.  "You
must forgive me if I was taken aback.  A man
doesn't expect to see double at this time of day,
eh, Fritz?"

"I must pray pardon, sire, for my presumption,"
said I.  "I trust it will not forfeit your
Majesty's favour."

"By Heaven!  you'll always enjoy the King's
countenance," he laughed, "whether I like it or
not; and, sir, I shall very gladly add to it what
services I can.  Where are you travelling to?"

"To Strelsau, sire--to the coronation."

The King looked at his friends:  he still smiled,
though his expression hinted some uneasiness.  But
the humorous side of the matter caught him again.

"Fritz, Fritz!" he cried, "a thousand crowns for a
sight of brother Michael's face when he sees a
pair of us!" and the merry laugh rang out again.

"Seriously," observed Fritz von Tarlenheim, "I
question Mr.  Rassendyll's wisdom in visiting
Strelsau just now."

The King lit a cigarette.

"Well, Sapt?" said he, questioningly.

"He mustn't go," growled the old fellow.

"Come, colonel, you mean that I should be in Mr.
Rassendyll's debt, if--"

"Oh, ay!  wrap it up in the right way," said Sapt,
hauling a great pipe out of his pocket.

"Enough, sire," said I.  "I'll leave Ruritania
today."

"No, by thunder, you shan't--and that's sans
phrase, as Sapt likes it.  For you shall dine with
me tonight, happen what will afterwards.  Come,
man, you don't meet a new relation every day!"

"We dine sparingly tonight," said Fritz von
Tarlenheim.

"Not we--with our new cousin for a guest!" cried
the King; and, as Fritz shrugged his shoulders, he
added:  "Oh!  I'll remember our early start,
Fritz."

"So will I--tomorrow morning," said old Sapt,
pulling at his pipe.

"O wise old Sapt!" cried the King.  "Come, Mr.
Rassendyll--by the way, what name did they give
you?"

"Your Majesty's," I answered, bowing.

"Well, that shows they weren't ashamed of us," he
laughed.  "Come, then, cousin Rudolf; I've got no
house of my own here, but my dear brother Michael
lends us a place of his, and we'll make shift to
entertain you there;" and he put his arm through
mine and, signing to the others to accompany us,
walked me off, westerly, through the forest.

We walked for more than half an hour, and the King
smoked cigarettes and chattered incessantly.  He
was full of interest in my family, laughed
heartily when I told him of the portraits with
Elphberg hair in our galleries, and yet more
heartily when he heard that my expedition to
Ruritania was a secret one.

"You have to visit your disreputable cousin on the
sly, have you?" said he.

Suddenly emerging from the wood, we came on a
small and rude hunting-lodge.  It was a one-storey
building, a sort of bungalow, built entirely of
wood.  As we approached it, a little man in a
plain livery came out to meet us.  The only other
person I saw about the place was a fat elderly
woman, whom I afterwards discovered to be the
mother of Johann, the duke's keeper.

"Well, is dinner ready, Josef?" asked the King.

The little servant informed us that it was, and we
soon sat down to a plentiful meal.  The fare was
plain enough:  the King ate heartily, Fritz von
Tarlenheim delicately, old Sapt voraciously.  I
played a good knife and fork, as my custom is; the
King noticed my performance with approval.

"We're all good trenchermen, we Elphbergs," said
he.  "But what?  --we're eating dry!  Wine, Josef!
wine, man!  Are we beasts, to eat without
drinking?  Are we cattle, Josef?"

At this reproof Josef hastened to load the table
with bottles.

"Remember tomorrow!" said Fritz.

"Ay--tomorrow!" said old Sapt.

The King drained a bumper to his "Cousin Rudolf,"
as he was gracious--or merry--enough to call me;
and I drank its fellow to the "Elphberg Red,"
whereat he laughed loudly.

Now, be the meat what it might, the wine we drank
was beyond all price or praise, and we did it
justice.  Fritz ventured once to stay the King's
hand.

"What?" cried the King.  "Remember you start
before I do, Master Fritz--you must be more
sparing by two hours than I."

Fritz saw that I did not understand.

"The colonel and I," he explained, "leave here at
six:  we ride down to Zenda and return with the
guard of honour to fetch the King at eight, and
then we all ride together to the station."

"Hang that same guard!" growled Sapt.

"Oh!  it's very civil of my brother to ask the
honour for his regiment," said the King.  "Come,
cousin, you need not start early.  Another bottle,
man!"

I had another bottle--or, rather, a part of one,
for the larger half travelled quickly down his
Majesty's throat.  Fritz gave up his attempts at
persuasion:  from persuading, he fell to being
persuaded, and soon we were all of us as full of
wine as we had any right to be.  The King began
talking of what he would do in the future, old
Sapt of what he had done in the past, Fritz of
some beautiful girl or other, and I of the
wonderful merits of the Elphberg dynasty.  We all
talked at once, and followed to the letter Sapt's
exhortation to let the morrow take care of itself.

At last the King set down his glass and leant back
in his chair.

"I have drunk enough," said he.

"Far be it from me to contradict the King," said
I.

Indeed, his remark was most absolutely true--so
far as it went.

While I yet spoke, Josef came and set before the
King a marvellous old wicker-covered flagon.  It
had lain so long in some darkened cellar that it
seemed to blink in the candlelight.

"His Highness the Duke of Strelsau bade me set
this wine before the King, when the King was weary
of all other wines, and pray the King to drink,
for the love that he bears his brother."

"Well done, Black Michael!" said the King.  "Out
with the cork, Josef.  Hang him!  Did he think I'd
flinch from his bottle?"

The bottle was opened, and Josef filled the King's
glass.  The King tasted it.  Then, with a
solemnity born of the hour and his own condition,
he looked round on us:

"Gentlemen, my friends--Rudolf, my cousin ('tis a
scandalous story, Rudolf, on my honour!),
everything is yours to the half of Ruritania.  But
ask me not for a single drop of this divine
bottle, which I will drink to the health of
that--that sly knave, my brother, Black Michael."

And the King seized the bottle and turned it over
his mouth, and drained it and flung it from him,
and laid his head on his arms on the table.

And we drank pleasant dreams to his Majesty--and
that is all I remember of the evening.  Perhaps it
is enough.





CHAPTER 4


The King Keeps His Appointment


Whether I had slept a minute or a year I knew not.
I awoke with a start and a shiver; my face, hair
and clothes dripped water, and opposite me stood
old Sapt, a sneering smile on his face and an
empty bucket in his hand.  On the table by him sat
Fritz von Tarlenheim, pale as a ghost and black as
a crow under the eyes.

I leapt to my feet in anger.

"Your joke goes too far, sir!" I cried.

"Tut, man, we've no time for quarrelling.  Nothing
else would rouse you.  It's five o'clock."

"I'll thank you, Colonel Sapt--" I began again,
hot in spirit, though I was uncommonly cold in
body.

"Rassendyll," interrupted Fritz, getting down from
the table and taking my arm, "look here."

The King lay full length on the floor.  His face
was red as his hair, and he breathed heavily.
Sapt, the disrespectful old dog, kicked him
sharply.  He did not stir, nor was there any break
in his breathing.  I saw that his face and head
were wet with water, as were mine.

"We've spent half an hour on him," said Fritz.

"He drank three times what either of you did,"
growled Sapt.

I knelt down and felt his pulse.  It was
alarmingly languid and slow.  We three looked at
one another.

"Was it drugged--that last bottle?" I asked in a
whisper.

"I don't know," said Sapt.

"We must get a doctor."

"There's none within ten miles, and a thousand
doctors wouldn't take him to Strelsau today.  I
know the look of it.  He'll not move for six or
seven hours yet."

"But the coronation!" I cried in horror.

Fritz shrugged his shoulders, as I began to see
was his habit on most occasions.

"We must send word that he's ill," he said.

"I suppose so," said I.

Old Sapt, who seemed as fresh as a daisy, had lit
his pipe and was puffing hard at it.

"If he's not crowned today," said he, "I'll lay a
crown he's never crowned."

"But heavens, why?"

"The whole nation's there to meet him; half the
army--ay, and Black Michael at the head.  Shall we
send word that the King's drunk?"

"That he's ill," said I, in correction.

"Ill!" echoed Sapt, with a scornful laugh.  "They
know his illnesses too well.  He's been "ill"
before!"

"Well, we must chance what they think," said Fritz
helplessly.  "I'll carry the news and make the
best of it."

Sapt raised his hand.

"Tell me," said he.  "Do you think the King was
drugged?"

"I do," said I.

"And who drugged him?"

"That damned hound, Black Michael," said Fritz
between his teeth.

"Ay," said Sapt, "that he might not come to be
crowned.  Rassendyll here doesn't know our pretty
Michael.  What think you, Fritz, has Michael no
king ready?  Has half Strelsau no other candidate?
As God's alive, man the throne's lost if the King
show himself not in Strelsau today.  I know Black
Michael."

"We could carry him there," said I.

"And a very pretty picture he makes," sneered
Sapt.

Fritz von Tarlenheim buried his face in his hands.
The King breathed loudly and heavily.  Sapt
stirred him again with his foot.

"The drunken dog!" he said; "but he's an Elphberg
and the son of his father, and may I rot in hell
before Black Michael sits in his place!"

For a moment or two we were all silent; then Sapt,
knitting his bushy grey brows, took his pipe from
his mouth and said to me:

"As a man grows old he believes in Fate.  Fate
sent you here.  Fate sends you now to Strelsau."

I staggered back, murmuring "Good God!"

Fritz looked up with an eager, bewildered gaze.

"Impossible!" I muttered.  "I should be known."

"It's a risk--against a certainty," said Sapt.
"If you shave, I'll wager you'll not be known.
Are you afraid?"

"Sir!"

"Come, lad, there, there; but it's your life, you
know, if you're known--and mine--and Fritz's here.
But, if you don't go, I swear to you Black Michael
will sit tonight on the throne, and the King lie
in prison or his grave."

"The King would never forgive it," I stammered.

"Are we women?  Who cares for his forgiveness?"

The clock ticked fifty times, and sixty and
seventy times, as I stood in thought.  Then I
suppose a look came over my face, for old Sapt
caught me by the hand, crying:

"You'll go?"

"Yes, I'll go," said I, and I turned my eyes on
the prostrate figure of the King on the floor.

"Tonight," Sapt went on in a hasty whisper, "we
are to lodge in the Palace.  The moment they leave
us you and I will mount our horses--Fritz must
stay there and guard the King's room-- and ride
here at a gallop.  The King will be ready--Josef
will tell him--and he must ride back with me to
Strelsau, and you ride as if the devil were behind
you to the frontier."

I took it all in in a second, and nodded my head.

"There's a chance," said Fritz, with his first
sign of hopefulness.

"If I escape detection," said I.

"If we're detected," said Sapt.  "I'll send Black
Michael down below before I go myself, so help me
heaven!  Sit in that chair, man."

I obeyed him.

He darted from the room, calling "Josef!  Josef!"
In three minutes he was back, and Josef with him.
The latter carried a jug of hot water, soap and
razors.  He was trembling as Sapt told him how the
land lay, and bade him shave me.

Suddenly Fritz smote on his thigh:

"But the guard!  They'll know!  they'll know!"

"Pooh!  We shan't wait for the guard.  We'll ride
to Hofbau and catch a train there.  When they
come, the bird'll be flown."

"But the King?"

"The King will be in the wine-cellar.  I'm going
to carry him there now."

"If they find him?"

"They won't.  How should they?  Josef will put
them off."

"But--"

Sapt stamped his foot.

"We're not playing," he roared.  "My God!  don't I
know the risk?  If they do find him, he's no worse
off than if he isn't crowned today in Strelsau."

So speaking, he flung the door open and, stooping,
put forth a strength I did not dream he had, and
lifted the King in his hands.  And as he did so,
the old woman, Johann the keeper's mother, stood
in the doorway.  For a moment she stood, then she
turned on her heel, without a sign of surprise,
and clattered down the passage.

"Has she heard?" cried Fritz.

"I'll shut her mouth!" said Sapt grimly, and he
bore off the King in his arms.

For me, I sat down in an armchair, and as I sat
there, half-dazed, Josef clipped and scraped me
till my moustache and imperial were things of the
past and my face was as bare as the King's.  And
when Fritz saw me thus he drew a long breath and
exclaimed:--

"By Jove, we shall do it!"

It was six o'clock now, and we had no time to
lose.  Sapt hurried me into the King's room, and I
dressed myself in the uniform of a colonel of the
Guard, finding time as I slipped on the King's
boots to ask Sapt what he had done with the old
woman.

"She swore she'd heard nothing," said he; "but to
make sure I tied her legs together and put a
handkerchief in her mouth and bound her hands, and
locked her up in the coal-cellar, next door to the
King.  Josef will look after them both later on."

Then I burst out laughing, and even old Sapt
grimly smiled.

"I fancy," said he, "that when Josef tells them
the King is gone they'll think it is because we
smelt a rat.  For you may swear Black Michael
doesn't expect to see him in Strelsau today."

I put the King's helmet on my head.  Old Sapt
handed me the King's sword, looking at me long and
carefully.

"Thank God, he shaved his beard!" he exclaimed.

"Why did he?" I asked.

"Because Princess Flavia said he grazed her cheek
when he was graciously pleased to give her a
cousinly kiss.  Come though, we must ride."

"Is all safe here?"

"Nothing's safe anywhere," said Sapt, "but we can
make it no safer."

Fritz now rejoined us in the uniform of a captain
in the same regiment as that to which my dress
belonged.  In four minutes Sapt had arrayed
himself in his uniform.  Josef called that the
horses were ready.  We jumped on their backs and
started at a rapid trot.  The game had begun.
What would the issue of it be?

The cool morning air cleared my head, and I was
able to take in all Sapt said to me.  He was
wonderful.  Fritz hardly spoke, riding like a man
asleep, but Sapt, without another word for the
King, began at once to instruct me most minutely
in the history of my past life, of my family, of
my tastes, pursuits, weaknesses, friends,
companions, and servants.  He told me the
etiquette of the Ruritanian Court, promising to be
constantly at my elbow to point out everybody whom
I ought to know, and give me hints with what
degree of favour to greet them.

"By the way," he said, "you're a Catholic, I
suppose?"

"Not I," I answered.

"Lord, he's a heretic!" groaned Sapt, and
forthwith he fell to a rudimentary lesson in the
practices and observances of the Romish faith.

"Luckily," said he, "you won't be expected to know
much, for the King's notoriously lax and careless
about such matters.  But you must be as civil as
butter to the Cardinal.  We hope to win him over,
because he and Michael have a standing quarrel
about their precedence."

We were by now at the station.  Fritz had
recovered nerve enough to explain to the
astonished station master that the King had
changed his plans.  The train steamed up.  We got
into a first-class carriage, and Sapt, leaning
back on the cushions, went on with his lesson.  I
looked at my watch--the King's watch it was, of
course.  It was just eight.

"I wonder if they've gone to look for us," I said.

"I hope they won't find the King," said Fritz
nervously, and this time it was Sapt who shrugged
his shoulders.

The train travelled well, and at half-past nine,
looking out of the window, I saw the towers and
spires of a great city.

"Your capital, my liege," grinned old Sapt, with a
wave of his hand, and, leaning forward, he laid
his finger on my pulse.  "A little too quick,"
said he, in his grumbling tone.

"I'm not made of stone!" I exclaimed.

"You'll do," said he, with a nod.  "We must say
Fritz here has caught the ague.  Drain your flask,
Fritz, for heaven's sake, boy!"

Fritz did as he was bid.

"We're an hour early," said Sapt.  "We'll send
word forward for your Majesty's arrival, for
there'll be no one here to meet us yet.

And meanwhile--"

"Meanwhile," said I, "the King'll be hanged if he
doesn't have some breakfast."

Old Sapt chuckled, and held out his hand.

"You're an Elphberg, every inch of you," said he.
Then he paused, and looking at us, said quietly,
"God send we may be alive tonight!"

"Amen!" said Fritz von Tarlenheim.

The train stopped.  Fritz and Sapt leapt out,
uncovered, and held the door for me.  I choked
down a lump that rose in my throat, settled my
helmet firmly on my head, and (I'm not ashamed to
say it) breathed a short prayer to God.  Then I
stepped on the platform of the station at
Strelsau.

A moment later, all was bustle and confusion:  men
hurrying up, hats in hand, and hurrying off again;
men conducting me to the buffet; men mounting and
riding in hot haste to the quarters of the troops,
to the Cathedral, to the residence of Duke
Michael.  Even as I swallowed the last drop of my
cup of coffee, the bells throughout all the city
broke out into a joyful peal, and the sound of a
military band and of men cheering smote upon my
ear.

King Rudolf the Fifth was in his good city of
Strelsau!  And they shouted outside--

"God save the King!"

Old Sapt's mouth wrinkled into a smile.

"God save 'em both!" he whispered.  "Courage,
lad!" and I felt his hand press my knee.




CHAPTER 5


The Adventures of an Understudy


With Fritz von Tarlenheim and Colonel Sapt close
behind me, I stepped out of the buffet on to the
platform.  The last thing I did was to feel if my
revolver were handy and my sword loose in the
scabbard.  A gay group of officers and high
dignitaries stood awaiting me, at their head a
tall old man, covered with medals, and of military
bearing.  He wore the yellow and red ribbon of the
Red Rose of Ruritania--which, by the way,
decorated my unworthy breast also.

"Marshal Strakencz," whispered Sapt, and I knew
that I was in the presence of the most famous
veteran of the Ruritanian army.

Just behind the Marshal stood a short spare man,
in flowing robes of black and crimson.

"The Chancellor of the Kingdom," whispered Sapt.

The Marshal greeted me in a few loyal words, and
proceeded to deliver an apology from the Duke of
Strelsau.  The duke, it seemed, had been afflicted
with a sudden indisposition which made it
impossible for him to come to the station, but he
craved leave to await his Majesty at the
Cathedral.  I expressed my concern, accepted the
Marshal's excuses very suavely, and received the
compliments of a large number of distinguished
personages.  No one betrayed the least suspicion,
and I felt my nerve returning and the agitated
beating of my heart subsiding.  But Fritz was
still pale, and his hand shook like a leaf as he
extended it to the Marshal.

Presently we formed procession and took our way to
the door of the station.  Here I mounted my horse,
the Marshal holding my stirrup.  The civil
dignitaries went off to their carriages, and I
started to ride through the streets with the
Marshal on my right and Sapt (who, as my chief
aide-de-camp, was entitled to the place) on my
left.  The city of Strelsau is partly old and
partly new.  Spacious modern boulevards and
residential quarters surround and embrace the
narrow, tortuous, and picturesque streets of the
original town.  In the outer circles the upper
classes live; in the inner the shops are situated;
and, behind their prosperous fronts, lie hidden
populous but wretched lanes and alleys, filled
with a poverty-stricken, turbulent, and (in large
measure) criminal class.  These social and local
divisions corresponded, as I knew from Sapt's
information, to another division more important to
me.  The New Town was for the King; but to the Old
Town Michael of Strelsau was a hope, a hero, and a
darling.

The scene was very brilliant as we passed along
the Grand Boulevard and on to the great square
where the Royal Palace stood.  Here I was in the
midst of my devoted adherents.  Every house was
hung with red and bedecked with flags and mottoes.
The streets were lined with raised seats on each
side, and I passed along, bowing this way and
that, under a shower of cheers, blessings, and
waving handkerchiefs.  The balconies were full of
gaily dressed ladies, who clapped their hands and
curtsied and threw their brightest glances at me.
A torrent of red roses fell on me; one bloom
lodged in my horse's mane, and I took it and stuck
it in my coat.  The Marshal smiled grimly.  I had
stolen some glances at his face, but he was too
impassive to show me whether his sympathies were
with me or not.

"The red rose for the Elphbergs, Marshal," said I
gaily, and he nodded.

I have written "gaily," and a strange word it must
seem.  But the truth is, that I was drunk with
excitement.  At that moment I believed--I almost
believed--that I was in very truth the King; and,
with a look of laughing triumph, I raised my eyes
to the beauty-laden balconies again.  .  .and then
I started.  For, looking down on me, with her
handsome face and proud smile, was the lady who
had been my fellow traveller--Antoinette de
Mauban; and I saw her also start, and her lips
moved, and she leant forward and gazed at me.  And
I, collecting myself, met her eyes full and
square, while again I felt my revolver.  Suppose
she had cried aloud, "That's not the King!"

Well, we went by; and then the Marshal, turning
round in his saddle, waved his hand, and the
Cuirassiers closed round us, so that the crowd
could not come near me.  We were leaving my
quarter and entering Duke Michael's, and this
action of the Marshal's showed me more clearly
than words what the state of feeling in the town
must be.  But if Fate made me a King, the least I
could do was to play the part handsomely.

"Why this change in our order, Marshal?" said I.

The Marshal bit his white moustache.

"It is more prudent, sire," he murmured.

I drew rein.

"Let those in front ride on," said I, "till they
are fifty yards ahead.  But do you, Marshal, and
Colonel Sapt and my friends, wait here till I have
ridden fifty yards.  And see that no one is nearer
to me.  I will have my people see that their King
trusts them."

Sapt laid his hand on my arm.  I shook him off.
The Marshal hesitated.

"Am I not understood?" said I; and, biting his
moustache again, he gave the orders.  I saw old
Sapt smiling into his beard, but he shook his head
at me.  If I had been killed in open day in the
streets of Strelsau, Sapt's position would have
been a difficult one.

Perhaps I ought to say that I was dressed all in
white, except my boots.  I wore a silver helmet
with gilt ornaments, and the broad ribbon of the
Rose looked well across my chest.  I should be
paying a poor compliment to the King if I did not
set modesty aside and admit that I made a very
fine figure.  So the people thought; for when I,
riding alone, entered the dingy, sparsely
decorated, sombre streets of the Old Town, there
was first a murmur, then a cheer, and a woman,
from a window above a cookshop, cried the old
local saying:

"If he's red, he's right!" whereat I laughed and
took off my helmet that she might see that I was
of the right colour and they cheered me again at
that.

It was more interesting riding thus alone, for I
heard the comments of the crowd.

"He looks paler than his wont," said one.

"You'd look pale if you lived as he does," was the
highly disrespectful retort.

"He's a bigger man than I thought," said another.

"So he had a good jaw under that beard after all,"
commented a third.

"The pictures of him aren't handsome enough,"
declared a pretty girl, taking great care that I
should hear.  No doubt it was mere flattery.

But, in spite of these signs of approval and
interest, the mass of the people received me in
silence and with sullen looks, and my dear
brother's portrait ornamented most of the
windows-- which was an ironical sort of greeting
to the King.  I was quite glad that he had been
spared the unpleasant sight.  He was a man of
quick temper, and perhaps he would not have taken
it so placidly as I did.

At last we were at the Cathedral.  Its great grey
front, embellished with hundreds of statues and
boasting a pair of the finest oak doors in Europe,
rose for the first time before me, and the sudden
sense of my audacity almost overcame me.
Everything was in a mist as I dismounted.  I saw
the Marshal and Sapt dimly, and dimly the throng
of gorgeously robed priests who awaited me.  And
my eyes were still dim as I walked up the great
nave, with the pealing of the organ in my ears.  I
saw nothing of the brilliant throng that filled
it, I hardly distinguished the stately figure of
the Cardinal as he rose from the archiepiscopal
throne to greet me.  Two faces only stood out side
by side clearly before my eyes-- the face of a
girl, pale and lovely, surmounted by a crown of
the glorious Elphberg hair (for in a woman it is
glorious), and the face of a man, whose
full-blooded red cheeks, black hair, and dark deep
eyes told me that at last I was in presence of my
brother, Black Michael.  And when he saw me his
red cheeks went pale all in a moment, and his
helmet fell with a clatter on the floor.  Till
that moment I believe that he had not realized
that the King was in very truth come to Strelsau.

Of what followed next I remember nothing.  I knelt
before the altar and the Cardinal anointed my
head.  Then I rose to my feet, and stretched out
my hand and took from him the crown of Ruritania
and set it on my head, and I swore the old oath of
the King; and (if it were a sin, may it be
forgiven me) I received the Holy Sacrament there
before them all.  Then the great organ pealed out
again, the Marshal bade the heralds proclaim me,
and Rudolf the Fifth was crowned King; of which
imposing ceremony an excellent picture hangs now
in my dining-room.  The portrait of the King is
very good.

Then the lady with the pale face and the glorious
hair, her train held by two pages, stepped from
her place and came to where I stood.  And a herald
cried:

"Her Royal Highness the Princess Flavia!"

She curtsied low, and put her hand under mine and
raised my hand and kissed it.  And for an instant
I thought what I had best do.  Then I drew her to
me and kissed her twice on the cheek, and she
blushed red, and--then his Eminence the Cardinal
Archbishop slipped in front of Black Michael, and
kissed my hand and presented me with a letter from
the Pope--the first and last which I have received
from that exalted quarter!

And then came the Duke of Strelsau.  His step
trembled, I swear, and he looked to the right and
to the left, as a man looks who thinks on flight;
and his face was patched with red and white, and
his hand shook so that it jumped under mine, and I
felt his lips dry and parched.  And I glanced at
Sapt, who was smiling again into his beard, and,
resolutely doing my duty in that station of life
to which I had been marvellously called, I took my
dear Michael by both hands and kissed him on the
cheek.  I think we were both glad when that was
over!

But neither in the face of the princess nor in
that of any other did I see the least doubt or
questioning.  Yet, had I and the King stood side
by side, she could have told us in an instant, or,
at least, on a little consideration.  But neither
she nor anyone else dreamed or imagined that I
could be other than the King.  So the likeness
served, and for an hour I stood there, feeling as
weary and blase as though I had been a king all my
life; and everybody kissed my hand, and the
ambassadors paid me their respects, among them old
Lord Topham, at whose house in Grosvenor Square I
had danced a score of times.  Thank heaven, the
old man was as blind as a bat, and did not claim
my acquaintance.

Then back we went through the streets to the
Palace, and I heard them cheering Black Michael;
but he, Fritz told me, sat biting his nails like a
man in a reverie, and even his own friends said
that he should have made a braver show.  I was in
a carriage now, side by side with the Princess
Flavia, and a rough fellow cried out:

"And when's the wedding?" and as he spoke another
struck him in the face, crying "Long live Duke
Michael!" and the princess coloured--it was an
admirable tint--and looked straight in front of
her.

Now I felt in a difficulty, because I had
forgotten to ask Sapt the state of my affections,
or how far matters had gone between the princess
and myself.  Frankly, had I been the King, the
further they had gone the better should I have
been pleased.  For I am not a slow-blooded man,
and I had not kissed Princess Flavia's cheek for
nothing.  These thoughts passed through my head,
but, not being sure of my ground, I said nothing;
and in a moment or two the princess, recovering
her equanimity, turned to me.

"Do you know, Rudolf," said she, "you look somehow
different today?"

The fact was not surprising, but the remark was
disquieting.

"You look," she went on, "more sober, more sedate;
you're almost careworn, and I declare you're
thinner.  Surely it's not possible that you've
begun to take anything seriously?"

The princess seemed to hold of the King much the
same opinion that Lady Burlesdon held of me.

I braced myself up to the conversation.

"Would that please you?" I asked softly,

"Oh, you know my views," said she, turning her
eyes away.

"Whatever pleases you I try to do," I said; and,
as I saw her smile and blush, I thought that I was
playing the King's hand very well for him.  So I
continued and what I said was perfectly true:

"I assure you, my dear cousin, that nothing in my
life has affected me more than the reception I've
been greeted with today."

She smiled brightly, but in an instant grew grave
again, and whispered:

"Did you notice Michael?"

"Yes," said I, adding, "he wasn't enjoying
himself."

"Do be careful!" she went on.  "You don't--indeed
you don't-- keep enough watch on him.  You know--"

"I know," said I, "that he wants what I've got."

"Yes.  Hush!"

Then--and I can't justify it, for I committed the
King far beyond what I had a right to do--I
suppose she carried me off my feet--I went on:

"And perhaps also something which I haven't got
yet, but hope to win some day."

This was my answer.  Had I been the King, I should
have thought it encouraging:

"Haven't you enough responsibilities on you for
one day, cousin?"

Bang, bang!  Blare, blare!  We were at the Palace.
Guns were firing and trumpets blowing.  Rows of
lackeys stood waiting, and, handing the princess
up the broad marble staircase, I took formal
possession, as a crowned King, of the House of my
ancestors, and sat down at my own table, with my
cousin on my right hand, on her other side Black
Michael, and on my left his Eminence the Cardinal.
Behind my chair stood Sapt; and at the end of the
table, I saw Fritz von Tarlenheim drain to the
bottom his glass of champagne rather sooner than
he decently should.

I wondered what the King of Ruritania was doing.




CHAPTER 6


The Secret of a Cellar


We were in the King's dressing-room--Fritz von
Tarlenheim, Sapt, and I.  I flung myself exhausted
into an armchair.  Sapt lit his pipe.  He uttered
no congratulations on the marvellous success of
our wild risk, but his whole bearing was eloquent
of satisfaction.  The triumph, aided perhaps by
good wine, had made a new man of Fritz.

"What a day for you to remember!" he cried.  "Gad,
I'd like to be King for twelve hours myself!  But,
Rassendyll, you mustn't throw your heart too much
into the part.  I don't wonder Black Michael
looked blacker than ever--you and the princess had
so much to say to one another."

"How beautiful she is!" I exclaimed.

"Never mind the woman," growled Sapt.  "Are you
ready to start?"

"Yes," said I, with a sigh.

It was five o'clock, and at twelve I should be no
more than Rudolf Rassendyll.  I remarked on it in
a joking tone.

"You'll be lucky," observed Sapt grimly, "if
you're not the late Rudolf Rassendyll.  By Heaven!
I feel my head wobbling on my shoulders every
minute you're in the city.  Do you know, friend,
that Michael has had news from Zenda?  He went
into a room alone to read it--and he came out
looking like a man dazed."

"I'm ready," said I, this news making me none the
more eager to linger.

Sapt sat down.

"I must write us an order to leave the city.
Michael's Governor, you know, and we must be
prepared for hindrances.  You must sign the
order."

"My dear colonel, I've not been bred a forger!"

Out of his pocket Sapt produced a piece of paper.

"There's the King's signature," he said, "and
here," he went on, after another search in his
pocket, "is some tracing paper.  If you can't
manage a "Rudolf" in ten minutes, why--I can."

"Your education has been more comprehensive than
mine," said I.  "You write it."

And a very tolerable forgery did this versatile
hero produce.

"Now, Fritz," said he, "the King goes to bed.  He
is upset.  No one is to see him till nine o'clock
tomorrow.  You understand-- no one?"

"I understand," answered Fritz.

"Michael may come, and claim immediate audience.
You'll answer that only princes of the blood are
entitled to it."

"That'll annoy Michael," laughed Fritz.

"You quite understand?" asked Sapt again.  "If the
door of this room is opened while we're away,
you're not to be alive to tell us about it."

"I need no schooling, colonel," said Fritz, a
trifle haughtily.

"Here, wrap yourself in this big cloak," Sapt
continued to me, "and put on this flat cap.  My
orderly rides with me to the hunting-lodge
tonight."

"There's an obstacle," I observed.  "The horse
doesn't live that can carry me forty miles."

"Oh, yes, he does--two of him:  one here--one at
the lodge.  Now, are you ready?"

"I'm ready," said I.

Fritz held out his hand.

"In case," said he; and we shook hands heartily.

"Damn your sentiment!" growled Sapt.  "Come
along."

He went, not to the door, but to a panel in the
wall.

"In the old King's time," said he, "I knew this
way well."

I followed him, and we walked, as I should
estimate, near two hundred yards along a narrow
passage.  Then we came to a stout oak door.  Sapt
unlocked it.  We passed through, and found
ourselves in a quiet street that ran along the
back of the Palace gardens.  A man was waiting for
us with two horses.  One was a magnificent bay, up
to any weight; the other a sturdy brown.  Sapt
signed to me to mount the bay.  Without a word to
the man, we mounted and rode away.  The town was
full of noise and merriment, but we took secluded
ways.  My cloak was wrapped over half my face; the
capacious flat cap hid every lock of my tell-tale
hair.  By Sapt's directions, I crouched on my
saddle, and rode with such a round back as I hope
never to exhibit on a horse again.  Down a long
narrow lane we went, meeting some wanderers and
some roisterers; and, as we rode, we heard the
Cathedral bells still clanging out their welcome
to the King.  It was half-past six, and still
light.  At last we came to the city wall and to a
gate.

"Have your weapon ready," whispered Sapt.  "We
must stop his mouth, if he talks."

I put my hand on my revolver.  Sapt hailed the
doorkeeper.  The stars fought for us!  A little
girl of fourteen tripped out.

"Please, sir, father's gone to see the King."

"He'd better have stayed here," said Sapt to me,
grinning.

"But he said I wasn't to open the gate, sir."

"Did he, my dear?" said Sapt, dismounting.  "Then
give me the key."

The key was in the child's hand.  Sapt gave her a
crown.

"Here's an order from the King.  Show it to your
father.  Orderly, open the gate!"

I leapt down.  Between us we rolled back the great
gate, led our horses out, and closed it again.

"I shall be sorry for the doorkeeper if Michael
finds out that he wasn't there.  Now then, lad,
for a canter.  We mustn't go too fast while we're
near the town."

Once, however, outside the city, we ran little
danger, for everybody else was inside,
merry-making; and as the evening fell we quickened
our pace, my splendid horse bounding along under
me as though I had been a feather.  It was a fine
night, and presently the moon appeared.  We talked
little on the way, and chiefly about the progress
we were making.

"I wonder what the duke's despatches told him,"
said I, once.

"Ay, I wonder!" responded Sapt.

We stopped for a draught of wine and to bait our
horses, losing half an hour thus.  I dared not go
into the inn, and stayed with the horses in the
stable.  Then we went ahead again, and had covered
some five-and-twenty miles, when Sapt abruptly
stopped.

"Hark!" he cried.

I listened.  Away, far behind us, in the still of
the evening-- it was just half-past nine--we heard
the beat of horses' hoofs.  The wind blowing
strong behind us, carried the sound.  I glanced at
Sapt.

"Come on!" he cried, and spurred his horse into a
gallop.  When we next paused to listen, the
hoof-beats were not audible, and we relaxed our
pace.  Then we heard them again.  Sapt jumped down
and laid his ear to the ground.

"There are two," he said.  "They're only a mile
behind.  Thank God the road curves in and out, and
the wind's our way."

We galloped on.  We seemed to be holding our own.
We had entered the outskirts of the forest of
Zenda, and the trees, closing in behind us as the
track zigged and zagged, prevented us seeing our
pursuers, and them from seeing us.

Another half-hour brought us to a divide of the
road.  Sapt drew rein.

"To the right is our road," he said.  "To the
left, to the Castle.  Each about eight miles.  Get
down."

"But they'll be on us!" I cried.

"Get down!" he repeated brusquely; and I obeyed.
The wood was dense up to the very edge of the
road.  We led our horses into the covert, bound
handkerchiefs over their eyes, and stood beside
them.

"You want to see who they are?" I whispered.

"Ay, and where they're going," he answered.

I saw that his revolver was in his hand.

Nearer and nearer came the hoofs.  The moon shone
out now clear and full, so that the road was white
with it.  The ground was hard, and we had left no
traces.

"Here they come!" whispered Sapt.

"It's the duke!"

"I thought so," he answered.

It was the duke; and with him a burly fellow whom
I knew well, and who had cause to know me
afterwards--Max Holf, brother to Johann the
keeper, and body-servant to his Highness.  They
were up to us:  the duke reined up.  I saw Sapt's
finger curl lovingly towards the trigger.  I
believe he would have given ten years of his life
for a shot; and he could have picked off Black
Michael as easily as I could a barn-door fowl in a
farmyard.  I laid my hand on his arm.  He nodded
reassuringly:  he was always ready to sacrifice
inclination to duty.

"Which way?" asked Black Michael.

"To the Castle, your Highness," urged his
companion.  "There we shall learn the truth."

For an instant the duke hesitated.

"I thought I heard hoofs," said he.

"I think not, your Highness."

"Why shouldn't we go to the lodge?"

"I fear a trap.  If all is well, why go to the
lodge?  If not, it's a snare to trap us."

Suddenly the duke's horse neighed.  In an instant
we folded our cloaks close round our horses'
heads, and, holding them thus, covered the duke
and his attendant with our revolvers.  If they had
found us, they had been dead men, or our
prisoners.

Michael waited a moment longer.  Then he cried:

"To Zenda, then!" and setting spurs to his horse,
galloped on.

Sapt raised his weapon after him, and there was
such an expression of wistful regret on his face
that I had much ado not to burst out laughing.

For ten minutes we stayed where we were.

"You see," said Sapt, "they've sent him news that
all is well."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"God knows," said Sapt, frowning heavily.  "But
it's brought him from Strelsau in a rare puzzle."

Then we mounted, and rode as fast as our weary
horses could lay their feet to the ground.  For
those last eight miles we spoke no more.  Our
minds were full of apprehension.  "All is well."
What did it mean?  Was all well with the King?

At last the lodge came in sight.  Spurring our
horses to a last gallop, we rode up to the gate.
All was still and quiet.  Not a soul came to meet
us.  We dismounted in haste.  Suddenly Sapt caught
me by the arm.

"Look there!" he said, pointing to the ground.

I looked down.  At my feet lay five or six silk
handkerchiefs, torn and slashed and rent.  I
turned to him questioningly.

"They're what I tied the old woman up with," said
he.  "Fasten the horses, and come along."

The handle of the door turned without resistance.
We passed into the room which had been the scene
of last night's bout.  It was still strewn with
the remnants of our meal and with empty bottles.

"Come on," cried Sapt, whose marvellous composure
had at last almost given way.

We rushed down the passage towards the cellars.
The door of the coal-cellar stood wide open.

"They found the old woman," said I.

"You might have known that from the
handkerchiefs," he said.

Then we came opposite the door of the wine-cellar.
It was shut.  It looked in all respects as it had
looked when we left it that morning."

"Come, it's all right," said I.

A loud oath from Sapt rang out.  His face turned
pale, and he pointed again at the floor.  From
under the door a red stain had spread over the
floor of the passage and dried there.  Sapt sank
against the opposite wall.  I tried the door.  It
was locked.

"Where's Josef?" muttered Sapt.

"Where's the King?" I responded.

Sapt took out a flask and put it to his lips.  I
ran back to the dining-room, and seized a heavy
poker from the fireplace.  In my terror and
excitement I rained blows on the lock of the door,
and I fired a cartridge into it.  It gave way, and
the door swung open.

"Give me a light," said I; but Sapt still leant
against the wall.

He was, of course, more moved than I, for he loved
his master.  Afraid for himself he was not--no man
ever saw him that; but to think what might lie in
that dark cellar was enough to turn any man's face
pale.  I went myself, and took a silver
candlestick from the dining-table and struck a
light, and, as I returned, I felt the hot wax drip
on my naked hand as the candle swayed to and fro;
so that I cannot afford to despise Colonel Sapt
for his agitation.

I came to the door of the cellar.  The red stain
turning more and more to a dull brown, stretched
inside.  I walked two yards into the cellar, and
held the candle high above my head.  I saw the
full bins of wine; I saw spiders crawling on the
walls; I saw, too, a couple of empty bottles lying
on the floor; and then, away in the corner, I saw
the body of a man, lying flat on his back, with
his arms stretched wide, and a crimson gash across
his throat.  I walked to him and knelt down beside
him, and commended to God the soul of a faithful
man.  For it was the body of Josef, the little
servant, slain in guarding the King.

I felt a hand on my shoulders, and, turning, saw
Sapt, eyes glaring and terror-struck, beside me.

"The King?  My God!  the King?" he whispered
hoarsely.

I threw the candle's gleam over every inch of the
cellar.

"The King is not here," said I.




CHAPTER 7


His Majesty Sleeps in Strelsau


I put my arm round Sapt's waist and supported him
out of the cellar, drawing the battered door close
after me.  For ten minutes or more we sat silent
in the dining-room.  Then old Sapt rubbed his
knuckles into his eyes, gave one great gasp, and
was himself again.  As the clock on the
mantelpiece struck one he stamped his foot on the
floor, saying:

"They've got the King!"

"Yes," said I, ""all's well!" as Black Michael's
despatch said.  What a moment it must have been
for him when the royal salutes fired at Strelsau
this morning!  I wonder when he got the message?"

"It must have been sent in the morning," said
Sapt.  "They must have sent it before news of your
arrival at Strelsau reached Zenda-- I suppose it
came from Zenda."

"And he's carried it about all day!" I exclaimed.
"Upon my honour, I'm not the only man who's had a
trying day!  What did he think, Sapt?"

"What does that matter?  What does he think, lad,
now?"

I rose to my feet.

"We must get back," I said, "and rouse every
soldier in Strelsau.  We ought to be in pursuit of
Michael before midday."

Old Sapt pulled out his pipe and carefully lit it
from the candle which guttered on the table.

"The King may be murdered while we sit here!" I
urged.

Sapt smoked on for a moment in silence.

"That cursed old woman!" he broke out.  "She must
have attracted their attention somehow.  I see the
game.  They came up to kidnap the King, and--as I
say--somehow they found him.  If you hadn't gone
to Strelsau, you and I and Fritz had been in
heaven by now!"

"And the King?"

"Who knows where the King is now?" he asked.

"Come, let's be off!" said I; but he sat still.
And suddenly he burst into one of his grating
chuckles:

"By Jove, we've shaken up Black Michael!"

"Come, come!" I repeated impatiently.

"And we'll shake him up a bit more," he added, a
cunning smile broadening on his wrinkled,
weather-beaten face, and his teeth working on an
end of his grizzled moustache.  "Ay, lad, we'll go
back to Strelsau.  The King shall be in his
capital again tomorrow."

"The King?"

"The crowned King!"

"You're mad!" I cried.

"If we go back and tell the trick we played, what
would you give for our lives?"

"Just what they're worth," said I.

"And for the King's throne?  Do you think that the
nobles and the people will enjoy being fooled as
you've fooled them?  Do you think they'll love a
King who was too drunk to be crowned, and sent a
servant to personate him?"

"He was drugged--and I'm no servant."

"Mine will be Black Michael's version."

He rose, came to me, and laid his hand on my
shoulder.

"Lad," he said, "if you play the man, you may save
the King yet.  Go back and keep his throne warm
for him."

"But the duke knows--the villains he has employed
know--"

"Ay, but they can't speak!" roared Sapt in grim
triumph.

"We've got 'em!  How can they denounce you without
denouncing themselves?  "This is not the King,
because we kidnapped the King and murdered his
servant." Can they say that?"

The position flashed on me.  Whether Michael knew
me or not, he could not speak.  Unless he produced
the King, what could he do?  And if he produced
the King, where was he?  For a moment I was
carried away headlong; but in an instant the
difficulties came strong upon me.

"I must be found out," I urged.

"Perhaps; but every hour's something.  Above all,
we must have a King in Strelsau, or the city will
be Michael's in four-and-twenty hours, and what
would the King's life be worth then--or his
throne?  Lad, you must do it!"

"Suppose they kill the King?"

"They'll kill him, if you don't."

"Sapt, suppose they have killed the King?"

"Then, by heaven, you're as good an Elphberg as
Black Michael, and you shall reign in Ruritania!
But I don't believe they have; nor will they kill
him if you're on the throne.  Will they kill him,
to put you in?"

It was a wild plan--wilder even and more hopeless
than the trick we had already carried through; but
as I listened to Sapt I saw the strong points in
our game.  And then I was a young man and I loved
action, and I was offered such a hand in such a
game as perhaps never man played yet.

"I shall be found out," I said.

"Perhaps," said Sapt.  "Come!  to Strelsau!  We
shall be caught like rats in a trap if we stay
here."

"Sapt," I cried, "I'll try it!"

"Well played!" said he.  "I hope they've left us
the horses.  I'll go and see."

"We must bury that poor fellow," said I.

"No time," said Sapt.

"I'll do it."

"Hang you!" he grinned.  "I make you a King,
and--Well, do it.  Go and fetch him, while I look
to the horses.  He can't lie very deep, but I
doubt if he'll care about that.  Poor little
Josef!  He was an honest bit of a man."

He went out, and I went to the cellar.  I raised
poor Josef in my arms and bore him into the
passage and thence towards the door of the house.
Just inside I laid him down, remembering that I
must find spades for our task.  At this instant
Sapt came up.

"The horses are all right; there's the own brother
to the one that brought you here.  But you may
save yourself that job."

"I'll not go before he's buried."

"Yes, you will."

"Not I, Colonel Sapt; not for all Ruritania."

"You fool!" said he.  "Come here."

He drew me to the door.  The moon was sinking, but
about three hundred yards away, coming along the
road from Zenda, I made out a party of men.  There
were seven or eight of them; four were on
horseback and the rest were walking, and I saw
that they carried long implements, which I guessed
to be spades and mattocks, on their shoulders.

"They'll save you the trouble," said Sapt.  "Come
along."

He was right.  The approaching party must, beyond
doubt, be Duke Michael's men, come to remove the
traces of their evil work.  I hesitated no longer,
but an irresistible desire seized me.

Pointing to the corpse of poor little Josef, I
said to Sapt:

"Colonel, we ought to strike a blow for him!"

"You'd like to give him some company, eh!  But
it's too risky work, your Majesty."

"I must have a slap at 'em," said I.

Sapt wavered.

"Well," said he, "it's not business, you know; but
you've been good boy--and if we come to grief,
why, hang me, it'll save us lot of thinking!  I'll
show you how to touch them."

He cautiously closed the open chink of the door.

Then we retreated through the house and made our
way to the back entrance.  Here our horses were
standing.  A carriage- drive swept all round the
lodge.

"Revolver ready?" asked Sapt.

"No; steel for me," said I.

"Gad, you're thirsty tonight," chuckled Sapt.  "So
be it."

We mounted, drawing our swords, and waited
silently for a minute or two.  Then we heard the
tramp of men on the drive the other side of the
house.  They came to a stand, and one cried:

"Now then, fetch him out!"

"Now!" whispered Sapt.

Driving the spurs into our horses, we rushed at a
gallop round the house, and in a moment we were
among the ruffians.  Sapt told me afterwards that
he killed a man, and I believe him; but I saw no
more of him.  With a cut, I split the head of a
fellow on a brown horse, and he fell to the
ground.  Then I found myself opposite a big man,
and I was half conscious of another to my right.
It was too warm to stay, and with a simultaneous
action I drove my spurs into my horse again and my
sword full into the big man's breast.  His bullet
whizzed past my ear-- I could almost swear it
touched it.  I wrenched at the sword, but it would
not come, and I dropped it and galloped after
Sapt, whom I now saw about twenty yards ahead.  I
waved my hand in farewell, and dropped it a second
later with a yell, for a bullet had grazed my
finger and I felt the blood.  Old Sapt turned
round in the saddle.  Someone fired again, but
they had no rifles, and we were out of range.
Sapt fell to laughing.

"That's one to me and two to you, with decent
luck," said he.  "Little Josef will have company."

"Ay, they'll be a partie carree," said I.  My
blood was up, and I rejoiced to have killed them.

"Well, a pleasant night's work to the rest!" said
he.  "I wonder if they noticed you?"

"The big fellow did; as I stuck him I heard him
cry, "The King!""

"Good!  good!  Oh, we'll give Black Michael some
work before we've done!"

Pausing an instant, we made a bandage for my
wounded finger, which was bleeding freely and
ached severely, the bone being much bruised.  Then
we rode on, asking of our good horses all that was
in them.  The excitement of the fight and of our
great resolve died away, and we rode in gloomy
silence.  Day broke clear and cold.  We found a
farmer just up, and made him give us sustenance
for ourselves and our horses.  I, feigning a
toothache, muffled my face closely.  Then ahead
again, till Strelsau lay before us.  It was eight
o'clock or nearing nine, and the gates were all
open, as they always were save when the duke's
caprice or intrigues shut them.  We rode in by the
same way as we had come out the evening before,
all four of us-- the men and the horses--wearied
and jaded.  The streets were even quieter than
when we had gone:  everyone was sleeping off last
night's revelry, and we met hardly a soul till we
reached the little gate of the Palace.  There
Sapt's old groom was waiting for us.

"Is all well, sir?" he asked.

"All's well," said Sapt, and the man, coming to
me, took my hand to kiss.

"The King's hurt!" he cried.

"It's nothing," said I, as I dismounted; "I caught
my finger in the door."

"Remember--silence!" said Sapt.  "Ah!  but, my
good Freyler, I do not need to tell you that!"

The old fellow shrugged his shoulders.

"All young men like to ride abroad now and again,
why not the King?" said he; and Sapt's laugh left
his opinion of my motives undisturbed.

"You should always trust a man," observed Sapt,
fitting the key in the lock, "just as far as you
must."

We went in and reached the dressing-room.
Flinging open the door, we saw Fritz von
Tarlenheim stretched, fully dressed, on the sofa.
He seemed to have been sleeping, but our entry
woke him.  He leapt to his feet, gave one glance
at me, and with a joyful cry, threw himself on his
knees before me.

"Thank God, sire!  thank God, you're safe!" he
cried, stretching his hand up to catch hold of
mine.

I confess that I was moved.  This King, whatever
his faults, made people love him.  For a moment I
could not bear to speak or break the poor fellow's
illusion.  But tough old Sapt had no such feeling.
He slapped his hand on his thigh delightedly.

"Bravo, lad!" cried he.  "We shall do!"

Fritz looked up in bewilderment.  I held out my
hand.

"You're wounded, sire!" he exclaimed.

"It's only a scratch," said I, "but--" I paused.

He rose to his feet with a bewildered air.
Holding my hand, he looked me up and down, and
down and up.  Then suddenly he dropped my hand and
reeled back.

"Where's the King?  Where's the King?" he cried.

"Hush, you fool!" hissed Sapt.  "Not so loud!
Here's the King!"

A knock sounded on the door.  Sapt seized me by
the hand.

"Here, quick, to the bedroom!  Off with your cap
and boots.  Get into bed.  Cover everything up."

I did as I was bid.  A moment later Sapt looked
in, nodded, grinned, and introduced an extremely
smart and deferential young gentleman, who came up
to my bedside, bowing again and again, and
informed me that he was of the household of the
Princess Flavia, and that her Royal Highness had
sent him especially to enquire how the King's
health was after the fatigues which his Majesty
had undergone yesterday.

"My best thanks, sir, to my cousin," said I; "and
tell her Royal Highness that I was never better in
my life."

"The King," added old Sapt (who, I began to find,
loved a good lie for its own sake), "has slept
without a break all night."

The young gentleman (he reminded me of "Osric" in
Hamlet) bowed himself out again.  The farce was
over, and Fritz von Tarlenheim's pale face
recalled us to reality--though, in faith, the
farce had to be reality for us now.

"Is the King dead?" he whispered.

"Please God, no," said I.  "But he's in the hands
of Black Michael!"




CHAPTER 8


A Fair Cousin and a Dark Brother


A real king's life is perhaps a hard one; but a
pretended king's is, I warrant, much harder.  On
the next day, Sapt instructed me in my
duties--what I ought to do and what I ought to
know-- for three hours; then I snatched breakfast,
with Sapt still opposite me, telling me that the
King always took white wine in the morning and was
known to detest all highly seasoned dishes.  Then
came the Chancellor, for another three hours; and
to him I had to explain that the hurt to my finger
(we turned that bullet to happy account) prevented
me from writing--whence arose great to-do, hunting
of precedents and so forth, ending in my "making
my mark," and the Chancellor attesting it with a
superfluity of solemn oaths.  Then the French
ambassador was introduced, to present his
credentials; here my ignorance was of no
importance, as the King would have been equally
raw to the business (we worked through the whole
corps diplomatique in the next few days, a demise
of the Crown necessitating all this bother).

Then, at last, I was left alone.  I called my new
servant (we had chosen, to succeed poor Josef, a
young man who had never known the King), had a
brandy-and-soda brought to me, and observed to
Sapt that I trusted that I might now have a rest.
Fritz von Tarlenheim was standing by.

"By heaven!" he cried, "we waste time.  Aren't we
going to throw Black Michael by the heels?"

"Gently, my son, gently," said Sapt, knitting his
brows.  "It would be a pleasure, but it might cost
us dear.  Would Michael fall and leave the King
alive?"

"And," I suggested, "while the King is here in
Strelsau, on his throne, what grievance has he
against his dear brother Michael?"

"Are we to do nothing, then?"

"We're to do nothing stupid," growled Sapt.

"In fact, Fritz," said I, "I am reminded of a
situation in one of our English plays--The
Critic--have you heard of it?  Or, if you like, of
two men, each covering the other with a revolver.
For I can't expose Michael without exposing
myself--"

"And the King," put in Sapt.

"And, hang me if Michael won't expose himself, if
he tries to expose me!"

"It's very pretty," said old Sapt.

"If I'm found out," I pursued, "I will make a
clean breast of it, and fight it out with the
duke; but at present I'm waiting for a move from
him."

"He'll kill the King," said Fritz.

"Not he," said Sapt.

"Half of the Six are in Strelsau," said Fritz.

"Only half?  You're sure?" asked Sapt eagerly.

"Yes--only half."

"Then the King's alive, for the other three are
guarding him!" cried Sapt.

"Yes--you're right!" exclaimed Fritz, his face
brightening.  "If the King were dead and buried,
they'd all be here with Michael.  You know
Michael's back, colonel?"

"I know, curse him!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said I, "who are the Six?"

"I think you'll make their acquaintance soon,"
said Sapt.  "They are six gentlemen whom Michael
maintains in his household:  they belong to him
body and soul.  There are three Ruritanians; then
there's a Frenchman, a Belgian, and one of your
countrymen."

"They'd all cut a throat if Michael told them,"
said Fritz.

"Perhaps they'll cut mine," I suggested.

"Nothing more likely," agreed Sapt.  "Who are
here, Fritz?"

"De Gautet, Bersonin, and Detchard."

"The foreigners!  It's as plain as a pikestaff.
He's brought them, and left the Ruritanians with
the King; that's because he wants to commit the
Ruritanians as deep as he can."

"They were none of them among our friends at the
lodge, then?" I asked.

"I wish they had been," said Sapt wistfully.
"They had been, not six, but four, by now."

I had already developed one attribute of
royalty--a feeling that I need not reveal all my
mind or my secret designs even to my intimate
friends.  I had fully resolved on my course of
action.  I meant to make myself as popular as I
could, and at the same time to show no disfavour
to Michael.  By these means I hoped to allay the
hostility of his adherents, and make it appear, if
an open conflict came about, that he was
ungrateful and not oppressed.

Yet an open conflict was not what I hoped for.

The King's interest demanded secrecy; and while
secrecy lasted, I had a fine game to play in
Strelsau, Michael should not grow stronger for
delay!

I ordered my horse, and, attended by Fritz von
Tarlenheim, rode in the grand new avenue of the
Royal Park, returning all the salutes which I
received with punctilious politeness.  Then I rode
through a few of the streets, stopped and bought
flowers of a pretty girl, paying her with a piece
of gold; and then, having attracted the desired
amount of attention (for I had a trail of half a
thousand people after me), I rode to the residence
of the Princess Flavia, and asked if she would
receive me.  This step created much interest, and
was met with shouts of approval.  The princess was
very popular, and the Chancellor himself had not
scrupled to hint to me that the more I pressed my
suit, and the more rapidly I brought it to a
prosperous conclusion, the stronger should I be in
the affection of my subjects.  The Chancellor, of
course, did not understand the difficulties which
lay in the way of following his loyal and
excellent advice.  However, I thought I could do
no harm by calling; and in this view Fritz
supported me with a cordiality that surprised me,
until he confessed that he also had his motives
for liking a visit to the princess's house, which
motive was no other than a great desire to see the
princess's lady-in-waiting and bosom friend, the
Countess Helga von Strofzin.

Etiquette seconded Fritz's hopes.  While I was
ushered into the princess's room, he remained with
the countess in the ante-chamber:  in spite of the
people and servants who were hanging about, I
doubt not that they managed a tete-a-tete; but I
had no leisure to think of them, for I was playing
the most delicate move in all my difficult game.
I had to keep the princess devoted to me--and yet
indifferent to me:  I had to show affection for
her--and not feel it.  I had to make love for
another, and that to a girl who--princess or no
princess--was the most beautiful I had ever seen.
Well, I braced myself to the task, made no easier
by the charming embarrassment with which I was
received.  How I succeeded in carrying out my
programme will appear hereafter.

"You are gaining golden laurels," she said.  "You
are like the prince in Shakespeare who was
transformed by becoming king.  But I'm forgetting
you are King, sire."

"I ask you to speak nothing but what your heart
tells you-- and to call me nothing but my name."

She looked at me for a moment.

"Then I'm glad and proud, Rudolf," said she.
"Why, as I told you, your very face is changed."

I acknowledged the compliment, but I disliked the
topic; so I said:

"My brother is back, I hear.  He made an
excursion, didn't he?"

"Yes, he is here," she said, frowning a little.

"He can't stay long from Strelsau, it seems," I
observed, smiling.  "Well, we are all glad to see
him.  The nearer he is, the better."

The princess glanced at me with a gleam of
amusement in her eyes.

"Why, cousin?  Is it that you can--?"

"See better what he's doing?  Perhaps," said I.
"And why are you glad?"

"I didn't say I was glad," she answered.

"Some people say so for you."

"There are many insolent people," she said, with
delightful haughtiness.

"Possibly you mean that I am one?"

"Your Majesty could not be," she said, curtseying
in feigned deference, but adding, mischievously,
after a pause:  "Unless, that is--"

"Well, unless what?"

"Unless you tell me that I mind a snap of my
fingers where the Duke of Strelsau is."

Really, I wished that I had been the King.

"You don't care where cousin Michael--"

"Ah, cousin Michael!  I call him the Duke of
Strelsau."

"You call him Michael when you meet him?"

"Yes--by the orders of your father."

"I see.  And now by mine?"

"If those are your orders."

"Oh, decidedly!  We must all be pleasant to our
dear Michael."

"You order me to receive his friends, too, I
suppose?"

"The Six?"

"You call them that, too?"

"To be in the fashion, I do.  But I order you to
receive no one unless you like."

"Except yourself?"

"I pray for myself.  I could not order."

As I spoke, there came a cheer from the street.
The princess ran to the window.

"It is he!" she cried.  "It is--the Duke of
Strelsau!"

I smiled, but said nothing.  She returned to her
seat.  For a few moments we sat in silence.  The
noise outside subsided, but I heard the tread of
feet in the ante-room.  I began to talk on general
subjects.  This went on for some minutes.  I
wondered what had become of Michael, but it did
not seem to be for me to interfere.  All at once,
to my great surprise, Flavia, clasping her hands
asked in an agitated voice:

"Are you wise to make him angry?"

"What?  Who?  How am I making him angry?"

"Why, by keeping him waiting."

"My dear cousin, I don't want to keep him--"

"Well, then, is he to come in?"

"Of course, if you wish it."

She looked at me curiously.

"How funny you are," she said.  "Of course no one
could be announced while I was with you."

Here was a charming attribute of royalty!

"An excellent etiquette!" I cried.  "But I had
clean forgotten it; and if I were alone with
someone else, couldn't you be announced?"

"You know as well as I do.  I could be, because I
am of the Blood;" and she still looked puzzled.

"I never could remember all these silly rules,"
said I, rather feebly, as I inwardly cursed Fritz
for not posting me up.  "But I'll repair my
fault."

I jumped up, flung open the door, and advanced
into the ante-room.  Michael was sitting at a
table, a heavy frown on his face.  Everyone else
was standing, save that impudent young dog Fritz,
who was lounging easily in an armchair, and
flirting with the Countess Helga.  He leapt up as
I entered, with a deferential alacrity that lent
point to his former nonchalance.  I had no
difficulty in understanding that the duke might
not like young Fritz.

I held out my hand, Michael took it, and I
embraced him.  Then I drew him with me into the
inner room.

"Brother," I said, "if I had known you were here,
you should not have waited a moment before I asked
the princess to permit me to bring you to her."

He thanked me, but coldly.  The man had many
qualities, but he could not hide his feelings.  A
mere stranger could have seen that he hated me,
and hated worse to see me with Princess Flavia;
yet I am persuaded that he tried to conceal both
feelings, and, further, that he tried to persuade
me that he believed I was verily the King.  I did
not know, of course; but, unless the King were an
impostor, at once cleverer and more audacious than
I (and I began to think something of myself in
that role), Michael could not believe that.  And,
if he didn't, how he must have loathed paying me
deference, and hearing my "Michael" and my
"Flavia!"

"Your hand is hurt, sire," he observed, with
concern.

"Yes, I was playing a game with a mongrel dog" (I
meant to stir him), "and you know, brother, such
have uncertain tempers."

He smiled sourly, and his dark eyes rested on me
for a moment.

"But is there no danger from the bite?" cried
Flavia anxiously.

"None from this," said I.  "If I gave him a chance
to bite deeper, it would be different, cousin."

"But surely he has been destroyed?" said she.

"Not yet.  We're waiting to see if his bite is
harmful."

"And if it is?" asked Michael, with his sour
smile.

"He'll be knocked on the head, brother," said I.

"You won't play with him any more?" urged Flavia.

"Perhaps I shall."

"He might bite again."

"Doubtless he'll try," said I, smiling.

Then, fearing Michael would say something which I
must appear to resent (for, though I might show
him my hate, I must seem to be full of favour), I
began to compliment him on the magnificent
condition of his regiment, and of their loyal
greeting to me on the day of my coronation.
Thence I passed to a rapturous description of the
hunting-lodge which he had lent me.  But he rose
suddenly to his feet.  His temper was failing him,
and, with an excuse, he said farewell.  However,
as he reached the door he stopped, saying:

"Three friends of mine are very anxious to have
the honour of being presented to you, sire.  They
are here in the ante-chamber."

I joined him directly, passing my arm through his.
The look on his face was honey to me.  We entered
the ante-chamber in fraternal fashion.  Michael
beckoned, and three men came forward.

"These gentlemen," said Michael, with a stately
courtesy which, to do him justice, he could assume
with perfect grace and ease, "are the loyalest and
most devoted of your Majesty's servants, and are
my very faithful and attached friends."

"On the last ground as much as the first," said I,
"I am very pleased to see them."

They came one by one and kissed my hand--De
Gautet, a tall lean fellow, with hair standing
straight up and waxed moustache; Bersonin, the
Belgian, a portly man of middle height with a bald
head (though he was not far past thirty); and
last, the Englishman, Detchard, a narrow-faced
fellow, with close-cut fair hair and a bronzed
complexion.  He was a finely made man, broad in
the shoulder and slender in the hips.  A good
fighter, but a crooked customer, I put him down
for.  I spoke to him in English, with a slight
foreign accent, and I swear the fellow smiled,
though he hid the smile in an instant.

"So Mr.  Detchard is in the secret," thought I.

Having got rid of my dear brother and his friends,
I returned to make my adieu to my cousin.  She was
standing at the door.  I bade her farewell, taking
her hand in mine.

"Rudolf," she said, very low, "be careful, won't
you?"

"Of what?"

"You know--I can't say.  But think what your life
is to--"

"Well to--?"

"To Ruritania."

Was I right to play the part, or wrong to play the
part?  I know not:  evil lay both ways, and I
dared not tell her the truth.

"Only to Ruritania?" I asked softly.

A sudden flush spread over her incomparable face.

"To your friends, too," she said.

"Friends?"

"And to your cousin," she whispered, "and loving
servant."

I could not speak.  I kissed her hand, and went
out cursing myself.

Outside I found Master Fritz, quite reckless of
the footmen, playing at cat's-cradle with the
Countess Helga.

"Hang it!" said he, "we can't always be plotting.
Love claims his share."

"I'm inclined to think he does," said I; and
Fritz, who had been by my side, dropped
respectfully behind.