Rudolf came, calm and serene. Danger and the need for exertion acted on him like a draught of good wine on a seasoned drinker. He was not only himself, but more than himself: his excellences enhanced, the indolence that marred him in quiet hours sloughed off. But to-day there was something more; I can only describe it as a kind of radiance. I have seen it on the faces of young sparks when the lady they love comes through the ball-room door, and I have seen it glow more softly in a girl’s eyes when some fellow who seemed to me nothing out of the ordinary asked her for a dance. That strange gleam was on Rudolf’s face as he stood by my bedside. I dare say it used to be on mine when I went courting. “Fritz, old friend,” said he, “there’s an answer from Sapt. I’ll lay the telegraph offices were stirred in Zenda as well as James stirred them here in Wintenberg! And what do you think? Rischenheim asked for an audience before he left Strelsau.” I raised myself on my elbow in the bed. “You understand?” he went on. “He left on Monday. To-day’s Wednesday. The king has granted him an audience at four on Friday. Well, then--” “They counted on success,” I cried, “and Rischenheim takes the letter!” “A copy, if I know Rupert of Hentzau. Yes, it was well laid. I like the men taking all the cabs! How much ahead had they, now.” I did not know that, though I had no more doubt than he that Rupert’s hand was in the business. “Well,” he continued, “I am going to wire to Sapt to put Rischenheim off for twelve hours if he can; failing that, to get the king away from Zenda.” “But Rischenheim must have his audience sooner or later,” I objected. “Sooner or later--there’s the world’s difference between them!” cried Rudolf Rassendyll. He sat down on the bed by me, and went on in quick, decisive words: “You can’t move for a day or two. Send my message to Sapt. Tell him to keep you informed of what happens. As soon as you can travel, go to Strelsau, and let Sapt know directly you arrive. We shall want your help.” “And what are you going to do?” I cried, staring at him. He looked at me for a moment, and his face was crossed by conflicting feelings. I saw resolve there, obstinacy, and the scorn of danger; fun, too, and merriment; and, lastly, the same radiance I spoke of. He had been smoking a cigarette; now he threw the end of it into the grate and rose from the bed where he had been sitting. “I’m going to Zenda,” said he. “To Zenda!” I cried, amazed. “Yes,” said Rudolf. “I’m going again to Zenda, Fritz, old fellow. By heaven, I knew it would come, and now it has come!” “But to do what?”