The Prisoner of Zenda. Anthony Hope

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, СКАЧАТЬ