chael and bring the King back to his own
again." The old fellow stood and looked at me for full a minute.

"And the princess?" he said.

I bowed my head to meet my hands, and crushed the rose between my
fingers and my lips.

I felt his hand on my shoulder, and his voice sounded husky as he
whispered low in my ear:

"Before God, you're the finest Elphberg of them all. But I have eaten
of the King's bread, and I am the King's servant. Come, we will go to
Zenda!"

And I looked up and caught him by the hand. And the eyes of both of us
were wet.

CHAPTER 11

Hunting a Very Big Boar

The terrible temptation which was assailing me will now be understood.
I could so force Michael's hand that he must kill the King. I was in a
position to bid him defiance and tighten my grasp on the crown--not for
its own sake, but because the King of Ruritania was to wed the Princess
Flavia. What of Sapt and Fritz? Ah! but a man cannot be held to write
down in cold blood the wild and black thoughts that storm his brain when
an uncontrolled passion has battered a breach for them. Yet, unless
he sets up as a saint, he need not hate himself for them. He is better
employed, as it humbly seems to me, in giving thanks that power to
resist was vouchsafed to him, than in fretting over wicked impulses
which come unsought and extort an unwilling hospitality from the
weakness of our nature.

It was a fine bright morning when I walked, unattended, to the
princess's house, carrying a nosegay in my hand. Policy made excuses
for love, and every attention that I paid her, while it riveted my own
chains, bound closer to me the people of the great city, who worshipped
her. I found Fritz's inamorata, the Countess Helga, gathering blooms in
the garden for her mistress's wear, and prevailed on her to take mine in
their place. The girl was rosy with happiness, for Fritz, in his turn,
had not wasted his evening, and no dark shadow hung over his wooing,
save the hatred which the Duke of Strelsau was known to bear him.

"And that," she said, with a mischievous smile, "your Majesty has made
of no moment. Yes, I will take the flowers; shall I tell you, sire, what
is the first thing the princess does with them?"

We were talking on a broad terrace that ran along the back of the house,
and a window above our heads stood open.

"Madame!" cried the countess merrily, and Flavia herself looked out. I
bared my head and bowed. She wore a white gown, and he