The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (i read a book txt) 📗

“I hope that no life more precious than mine may be demanded,” said I, rising. Then I held out my hand to him.

“Marshal,” I said, “in days to come, it may be—I know not—that you will hear strange things of the man who speaks to you now. Let him be what he may, and who he may, what say you of the manner in which he has borne himself as King in Strelsau?”

The old man, holding my hand, spoke to me, man to man.

“I have known many of the Elphbergs,” said he, “and I have seen you. And, happen what may, you have borne yourself as a wise King and a brave man; ay, and you have proved as courteous a gentleman and as gallant a lover as any that have been of the House.”

“Be that my epitaph,” said I, “when the time comes that another sits on the throne of Ruritania.”

“God send a far day, and may I not see it!” said he.

I was much moved, and the Marshal’s worn face twitched. I sat down and wrote my order.

“I can hardly yet write,” said I; “my finger is stiff still.”

It was, in fact, the first time that I had ventured to write more than a signature; and in spite of the pains I had taken to learn the King’s hand, I was not yet perfect in it.

“Indeed, sire,” he said, “it differs a little from your ordinary handwriting. It is unfortunate, for it may lead to a suspicion of forgery.”

“Marshal,” said I, with a laugh, “what use are the guns of Strelsau, if they can’t assuage a little suspicion?”

He smiled grimly, and took the paper.

“Colonel Sapt and Fritz von Tarlenheim go with me,” I continued.

“You go to seek the duke?” he asked in a low tone.

“Yes, the duke, and someone else of whom I have need, and who is at Zenda,” I replied.

“I wish I could go with you,” he cried, tugging at his white moustache. “I’d like to strike a blow for you and your crown.”

“I leave you what is more than my life and more than my crown,” said I, “because you are the man I trust more than all other in Ruritania.”

“I will deliver her to you safe and sound,” said he, “and, failing that, I will make her queen.”

We parted, and I returned to the Palace and told Sapt and Fritz what I had done. Sapt had a few faults to find and a few grumbles to utter. This was merely what I expected, for Sapt liked to be consulted beforehand, not informed afterwards; but on the whole he approved of my plans, and his spirits rose high as the hour of action drew nearer and nearer. Fritz, too, was ready; though he, poor fellow, risked more than Sapt did, for he was a lover, and his happiness hung in the scale. Yet how I envied him! For the triumphant issue which would crown him with happiness and unite him to his mistress, the success for which we were bound to hope and strive and struggle, meant to me sorrow more certain and greater than if I were doomed to fail. He understood something of this, for when we were alone (save for old Sapt, who was smoking at the other end of the room) he passed his arm through mine, saying:

“It’s hard for you. Don’t think I don’t trust you; I know you have nothing but true thoughts in your heart.”

But I turned away from him, thankful that he could not see what my heart held, but only be witness to the deeds that my hands were to do.

Yet even he did not understand, for he had not dared to lift his eyes to the Princess Flavia, as I had lifted mine.

Our plans were now all made, even as we proceeded to carry them out, and as they will hereafter appear. The next morning we were to start on the hunting excursion. I had made all arrangements for being absent, and now there was only one thing left to do—the hardest, the most heart-breaking. As evening fell, I drove through the busy streets to Flavia’s residence. I was recognized as I went and heartily cheered. I played my part, and made shift to look the happy lover. In spite of my depression, I was almost amused at the coolness and delicate hauteur with which my sweet lover received me. She had heard that the King was leaving Strelsau on a hunting expedition.

“I regret that we cannot amuse your Majesty here in Strelsau,” she said, tapping her foot lightly on the floor. “I would have offered you more entertainment, but I was foolish enough to think—”

“Well, what?” I asked, leaning over her.

“That just for a day or two after—after last night—you might be happy without much gaiety;” and she turned pettishly from me, as she added, “I hope the boars will be more engrossing.”

“I’m going after a very big boar,” said I; and, because I could not help it, I began to play with her hair, but she moved her head away.

“Are you offended with me?” I asked, in feigned surprise, for I could not resist tormenting her a little. I had never seen her angry, and every fresh aspect of her was a delight to me.

“What right have I to be offended? True, you said last night that every hour away from me was wasted. But a very big boar! that’s a different thing.”

“Perhaps the boar will hunt me,” I suggested. “Perhaps, Flavia, he’ll catch me.”

She made no answer.

“You are not touched even by that danger?”

Still she said nothing; and I, stealing round, found her eyes full of tears.

“You weep for my danger?”

Then she spoke very low:

“This is like what you used to be; but not like the King—the King I—I have come to love!”

With a sudden great groan, I caught her to my heart.

“My darling!” I cried, forgetting everything but her, “did you dream that I left you to go hunting?”

“What then, Rudolf? Ah! you’re not going—?”

“Well, it is hunting. I go to seek Michael in his lair.”

She had turned very pale.

“So, you see, sweet, I was not so poor a lover as you thought me. I shall not be long gone.”

“You will write to me, Rudolf?”

I was weak, but I could not say a word to stir suspicion in her.

“I’ll send you all my heart every day,”