e, entered a long narrow room. The ceiling,
high in the centre, sloped rapidly down on either side, so that at door
and window it was little more than six feet above the floor. There was
an oak table and a few chairs; a couple of iron bedsteads stood by the
wall near the window. One was empty; the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim lay
on the other, fully dressed, his right arm supported in a sling of black
silk. Rupert paused on the threshold, smiling at his cousin; the girl
passed on to a high press or cupboard, and, opening it, took out plates,
glasses, and the other furniture of the table. Rischenheim sprang up and
ran across the room.

"What news?" he cried eagerly. "You escaped them, Rupert?"

"It appears so," said Rupert airily; and, advancing into the room, he
threw himself into a chair, tossing his hat on to the table.

"It appears that I escaped, although some fool's stupidity nearly made
an end of me." Rischenheim flushed.

"I'll tell you about that directly," he said, glancing at the girl who
had put some cold meat and a bottle of wine on the table, and was
now completing the preparations for Rupert's meal in a very leisurely
fashion.

"Had I nothing to do but to look at pretty faces--which, by Heaven,
I wish heartily were the case--I would beg you to stay," said Rupert,
rising and making her a profound bow.

"I've no wish to hear what doesn't concern me," she retorted scornfully.

"What a rare and blessed disposition!" said he, holding the door for her
and bowing again.

"I know what I know," she cried to him triumphantly from the landing.
"Maybe you'd give something to know it too, Count Rupert!"

"It's very likely, for, by Heaven, girls know wonderful things!" smiled
Rupert; but he shut the door and came quickly back to the table, now
frowning again. "Come, tell me, how did they make a fool of you, or why
did you make a fool of me, cousin?"

While Rischenheim related how he had been trapped and tricked at the
Castle of Zenda, Rupert of Hentzau made a very good breakfast. He
offered no interruption and no comments, but when Rudolf Rassendyll came
into the story he looked up for an instant with a quick jerk of his head
and a sudden light in his eyes. The end of Rischenheim's narrative found
him tolerant and smiling again.

"Ah, well, the snare was cleverly set," he said. "I don't wonder you
fell into it."

"And now you? What happened to you?" asked Rischenheim eagerly.

"I? Why, having your message