llor," said Rudolf, with
a sigh which seemed to hint that the king in his palace was not so
fortunate. Helsing was immensely pleased. He was all agog to go and tell
his wife how entirely the king trusted to her honor and silence.

There was nothing that Rudolf more desired than to be relieved of
the excellent old fellow's presence; but, well aware of the supreme
importance of keeping him in a good temper, he would not hear of his
departure for a few minutes.

"At any rate, the ladies won't talk till after breakfast, and since they
got home only at five o'clock they won't breakfast yet awhile," said he.

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 h