The Prisoner of Zenda | Page 5

Antoinette de Mauban, and, like you, she's
going to Dresden--also, no doubt, to see the pictures. It's very queer,
though, that she doesn't at present desire the honour of your
acquaintance."
"I didn't ask to be introduced," I observed, a little annoyed.
"Well, I offered to bring you to her; but she said, 'Another time.' Never
mind, old fellow, perhaps there'll be a smash, and you'll have a chance
of rescuing her and cutting out the Duke of Strelsau!"
No smash, however, happened, either to me or to Madame de Mauban.
I can speak for her as confidently as for myself; for when, after a

night's rest in Dresden, I continued my journey, she got into the same
train. Understanding that she wished to be let alone, I avoided her
carefully, but I saw that she went the same way as I did to the very end
of my journey, and I took opportunities of having a good look at her,
when I could do so unobserved.
As soon as we reached the Ruritanian frontier (where the old officer
who presided over the Custom House favoured me with such a stare
that I felt surer than before of my Elphberg physiognomy), I bought the
papers, and found in them news which affected my movements. For
some reason, which was not clearly explained, and seemed to be
something of a mystery, the date of the coronation had been suddenly
advanced, and the ceremony was to take place on the next day but one.
The whole country seemed in a stir about it, and it was evident that
Strelsau was thronged. Rooms were all let and hotels overflowing;
there would be very little chance of my obtaining a lodging, and I
should certainly have to pay an exorbitant charge for it. I made up my
mind to stop at Zenda, a small town fifty miles short of the capital, and
about ten from the frontier. My train reached there in the evening; I
would spend the next day, Tuesday, in a wander over the hills, which
were said to be very fine, and in taking a glance at the famous Castle,
and go over by train to Strelsau on the Wednesday morning, returning
at night to sleep at Zenda.
Accordingly at Zenda I got out, and as the train passed where I stood on
the platform, I saw my friend Madame de Mauban in her place; clearly
she was going through to Strelsau, having, with more providence than I
could boast, secured apartments there. I smiled to think how surprised
George Featherly would have been to know that she and I had been
fellow travellers for so long.
I was very kindly received at the hotel--it was really no more than an
inn--kept by a fat old lady and her two daughters. They were good,
quiet people, and seemed very little interested in the great doings at
Strelsau. The old lady's hero was the duke, for he was now, under the
late King's will, master of the Zenda estates and of the Castle, which
rose grandly on its steep hill at the end of the valley a mile or so from

the inn. The old lady, indeed, did not hesitate to express regret that the
duke was not on the throne, instead of his brother.
"We know Duke Michael," said she. "He has always lived among us;
every Ruritanian knows Duke Michael. But the King is almost a
stranger; he has been so much abroad, not one in ten knows him even
by sight."
"And now," chimed in one of the young women, "they say he has
shaved off his beard, so that no one at all knows him."
"Shaved his beard!" exclaimed her mother. "Who says so?"
"Johann, the duke's keeper. He has seen the King."
"Ah, yes. The King, sir, is now at the duke's hunting-lodge in the forest
here; from here he goes to Strelsau to be crowned on Wednesday
morning."
I was interested to hear this, and made up my mind to walk next day in
the direction of the lodge, on the chance of coming across the King.
The old lady ran on garrulously:
"Ah, and I wish he would stay at his hunting--that and wine (and one
thing more) are all he loves, they say--and suffer our duke to be
crowned on Wednesday. That I wish, and I don't care who knows it."
"Hush, mother!" urged the daughters.
"Oh, there's many to think as I do!" cried the old woman stubbornly.
I threw myself back in my deep armchair, and laughed at her zeal.
"For my part," said the younger and prettier of the two daughters, a fair,
buxom, smiling wench, "I hate Black Michael! A red Elphberg for me,
mother! The King, they say, is as red