Rupert of Hentzau: From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim: Sequel to The Prisoner of ZendaHope, Anthony
General
Rupert of Hentzau: From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim: Sequel to The Prisoner of Zenda
Hope, Anthony
Adventure stories; British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Impostors and imposture -- Fiction; Kings and rulers -- Fiction
So he made Helsing sit down, and talked to him. Rudolf had not failed to
notice that the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim had been a little surprised
at the sound of his voice; in this conversation he studiously kept his
tones low, affecting a certain weakness and huskiness such as he had
detected in the king’s utterances, as he listened behind the curtain
in Sapt’s room at the castle. The part was played as completely and
triumphantly as in the old days when he ran the gauntlet of every eye in
Strelsau. Yet if he had not taken such pains to conciliate old Helsing,
but had let him depart, he might not have found himself driven to a
greater and even more hazardous deception.
They were conversing together alone. My wife had been prevailed on by
Rudolf to lie down in her room for an hour. Sorely needing rest, she
had obeyed him, having first given strict orders that no member of the
household should enter the room where the two were except on an express
summons. Fearing suspicion, she and Rudolf had agreed that it was better
to rely on these injunctions than to lock the door again as they had the
night before.
But while these things passed at my house, the queen and Bernenstein
were on their way to Strelsau. Perhaps, had Sapt been at Zenda, his
powerful influence might have availed to check the impulsive expedition;
Bernenstein had no such authority, and could only obey the queen’s
peremptory orders and pathetic prayers. Ever since Rudolf Rassendyll
left her, three years before, she had lived in stern self-repression,
never her true self, never for a moment able to be or to do what every
hour her heart urged on her. How are these things done? I doubt if a
man lives who could do them; but women live who do them. Now his sudden
coming, and the train of stirring events that accompanied it, his danger
and hers, his words and her enjoyment of his presence, had all worked
together to shatter her self-control; and the strange dream, heightening
the emotion which was its own cause, left her with no conscious desire
save to be near Mr. Rassendyll, and scarcely with a fear except for his
safety. As they journeyed her talk was all of his peril, never of the
disaster which threatened herself, and which we were all striving
with might and main to avert from her head. She traveled alone with
Bernenstein, getting rid of the lady who attended her by some careless
pretext, and she urged on him continually to bring her as speedily as
might be to Mr. Rassendyll. I cannot find much blame for her. Rudolf
stood for all the joy in her life, and Rudolf had gone to fight with the
Count of Hentzau. What wonder that she saw him, as it were, dead? Yet
still she would have it that, in his seeming death, all men hailed him
for their king. Well, it was her love that crowned him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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