“I’ll tell you about that directly,” he said, glancing at the girl who had put some cold meat and a bottle of wine on the table, and was now completing the preparations for Rupert’s meal in a very leisurely fashion. “Had I nothing to do but to look at pretty faces--which, by Heaven, I wish heartily were the case--I would beg you to stay,” said Rupert, rising and making her a profound bow. “I’ve no wish to hear what doesn’t concern me,” she retorted scornfully. “What a rare and blessed disposition!” said he, holding the door for her and bowing again. “I know what I know,” she cried to him triumphantly from the landing. “Maybe you’d give something to know it too, Count Rupert!” “It’s very likely, for, by Heaven, girls know wonderful things!” smiled Rupert; but he shut the door and came quickly back to the table, now frowning again. “Come, tell me, how did they make a fool of you, or why did you make a fool of me, cousin?” While Rischenheim related how he had been trapped and tricked at the Castle of Zenda, Rupert of Hentzau made a very good breakfast. He offered no interruption and no comments, but when Rudolf Rassendyll came into the story he looked up for an instant with a quick jerk of his head and a sudden light in his eyes. The end of Rischenheim’s narrative found him tolerant and smiling again. “Ah, well, the snare was cleverly set,” he said. “I don’t wonder you fell into it.” “And now you? What happened to you?” asked Rischenheim eagerly. “I? Why, having your message which was not your message, I obeyed your directions which were not your directions.” “You went to the lodge?” “Certainly.” “And you found Sapt there?--Anybody else?” “Why, not Sapt at all.” “Not Sapt? But surely they laid a trap for you?” “Very possibly, but the jaws didn’t bite.” Rupert crossed his legs and lit a cigarette. “But what did you find?” “I? I found the king’s forester, and the king’s boar-hound, and--well, I found the king himself, too.” “The king at the lodge?” “You weren’t so wrong as you thought, were you?” “But surely Sapt, or Bernenstein, or some one was with him?” “As I tell you, his forester and his boar-hound. No other man or beast, on my honor.” “Then you gave him the letter?” cried Rischenheim, trembling with excitement. “Alas, no, my dear cousin. I threw the box at him, but I don’t think he had time to open it. We didn’t get to that stage of the conversation at which I had intended to produce the letter.” “But why not--why not?” Rupert rose to his feet, and, coming just opposite to where Rischenheim sat, balanced himself on his heels, and looked down at his cousin, blowing the ash from his cigarette and smiling pleasantly. “Have you noticed,” he asked, “that my coat’s torn?” “I see it is.” “Yes. The boar-hound tried to bite me, cousin. And the forester would have stabbed me. And--well, the king wanted to shoot me.” “Yes, yes! For God’s sake, what happened?”