THE PRISONER OF ZENDA

THE PRISONER OF ZENDA

It was my Uncle William's advice that no man should pass through Paris without spending four-and-twenty hours there... I called on George Featherley at the Embassy, and after supper we visited Bertram Bertrand, a poet of some repute. We found him in low spirits. When I insisted on knowing the reason, he exclaimed, "I am in love."

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

George said, "You might as well give her up. She's leaving Paris tomorrow."

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

"Antoinette de Mauban," replied George.

"Where's she going to?"

"Nobody knows," said George. "By the way, Bert, I met the Duke of Streslau at her house the other night."

The lady was some sort of celebrity. She was a widow, rich and beautiful, and, according to some, ambitious. It is quite possible that she was interested in the duke, half-brother to the new King of Strelsau.

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

"No. He's gone back to be present at the King's coronation, a ceremony which, I should say, he'll not enjoy much."

I was sorry for Bert and annoyed with George for causing him pain. So I returned to the hotel.

***

The next day George 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 such a gossip that had I told him about my trip to Ruritania, the news would have been in London in three days. I was about to answer when, leaving me suddenly, he darted across the platform. Following him with my eyes, I saw him lift his hat to 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. A moment later, George returned.

"You've a charming travelling companion," he said. "That's Antoinette de Mauban, and like you, she's going to Dresden. It is queer, though, that she doesn't desire the honour of your acquaintance."

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

***

Soon I entered the forest, and walked for an hour or more in its cool shade.

Suddenly I thought I heard someone exclaim, "Why, the devil's in it! Shave him, and he'd be the King!"

***

"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?"

So speaking, he lifted the King and bore him off in his arms. As he did so, we saw Johann's mother standing in the doorway. She stood there for a moment, then turned, and without a sign of surprise, clattered down the passage.

"Has she heard?" cried Fritz.

I sat down in an armchair, half-dazed. Josef clipped and scraped me till 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!"

"I'll shut her mouth!" said Sapt grimly, as he went down to the wine-cellar.

It was six o'clock now, and we had no time to lose. Sapt hurried me to 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."

(From THE PRISONER OF ZENDA by Anthony Hope (illustrated), Learners Graded Readers (Level 4), Sterling Press Private Limited, New Delhi, Rs. 75.)