The Prisoner of Zenda | Page 8

a slender young fellow, of middle height, dark in
complexion, and bearing himself with grace and distinction. I set the
one down as an old soldier: the other for a gentleman accustomed to

move in good society, but not unused to military life either. It turned
out afterwards that my guess was a good one.
The elder man approached me, beckoning the younger to follow. He
did so, courteously raising his hat. I rose slowly to my feet.
"He's the height, too!" I heard the elder murmur, as he surveyed my six
feet two inches of stature. Then, with a cavalier touch of the cap, he
addressed me:
"May I ask your name?"
"As you have taken the first step in the acquaintance, gentlemen," said I,
with a smile, "suppose you give me a lead in the matter of names."
The young man stepped forward with a pleasant smile.
"This," said he, "is Colonel Sapt, and I am called Fritz von Tarlenheim:
we are both in the service of the King of Ruritania."
I bowed and, baring my head, answered:
"I am Rudolf Rassendyll. I am a traveller from England; and once for a
year or two I held a commission from her Majesty the Queen."
"Then we are all brethren of the sword," answered Tarlenheim, holding
out his hand, which I took readily.
"Rassendyll, Rassendyll!" muttered Colonel Sapt; then a gleam of
intelligence flitted across his face.
"By Heaven!" he cried, "you're of the Burlesdons?"
"My brother is now Lord Burlesdon," said I.
"Thy head betrayeth thee," he chuckled, pointing to my uncovered poll.
"Why, Fritz, you know the story?"
The young man glanced apologetically at me. He felt a delicacy which

my sister-in-law would have admired. To put him at his ease, I
remarked with a smile:
"Ah! the story is known here as well as among us, it seems."
"Known!" cried Sapt. "If you stay here, the deuce a man in all Ruritania
will doubt of it--or a woman either."
I began to feel uncomfortable. Had I realized what a very plainly
written pedigree I carried about with me, I should have thought long
before I visited Ruritania. However, I was in for it now.
At this moment a ringing voice sounded from the wood behind us:
"Fritz, Fritz! where are you, man?"
Tarlenheim started, and said hastily:
"It's the King!"
Old Sapt chuckled again.
Then a young man jumped out from behind the trunk of a tree and
stood beside us. As I looked at him, I uttered an astonished cry; and he,
seeing me, drew back in sudden wonder. Saving the hair on my face
and a manner of conscious dignity which his position gave him, saving
also that he lacked perhaps half an inch--nay, less than that, but still
something--of my height, the King of Ruritania might have been
Rudolf Rassendyll, and I, Rudolf, the King.
For an instant we stood motionless, looking at one another. Then I
bared my head again and bowed respectfully. The King found his voice,
and asked in bewilderment:
"Colonel--Fritz--who is this gentleman?"
I was about to answer, when Colonel Sapt stepped between the King
and me, and began to talk to his Majesty in a low growl. The King
towered over Sapt, and, as he listened, his eyes now and again sought

mine. I looked at him long and carefully. The likeness was certainly
astonishing, though I saw the points of difference also. The King's face
was slightly more fleshy than mine, the oval of its contour the least
trifle more pronounced, and, as I fancied, his mouth lacking something
of the firmness (or obstinacy) which was to be gathered from my
close-shutting lips. But, for all that, and above all minor distinctions,
the likeness rose striking, salient, wonderful.
Sapt ceased speaking, and the King still frowned. Then, gradually, the
corners of his mouth began to twitch, his nose came down (as mine
does when I laugh), his eyes twinkled, and, behold! he burst into the
merriest fit of irrepressible laughter, which rang through the woods and
proclaimed him a jovial soul.
"Well met, cousin!" he cried, stepping up to me, clapping me on the
back, and laughing still. "You must forgive me if I was taken aback. A
man doesn't expect to see double at this time of day, eh, Fritz?"
"I must pray pardon, sire, for my presumption," said I. "I trust it will
not forfeit your Majesty's favour."
"By Heaven! you'll always enjoy the King's countenance," he laughed,
"whether I like it or not; and, sir, I shall very gladly add to it what
services I can. Where are you travelling to?"
"To Strelsau, sire--to the coronation."
The King looked at his friends: he still smiled, though his expression
hinted some uneasiness. But the humorous side of the