“But I am in,” came the answer, and Rudolf stepped towards her. The girl followed a pace behind, her hands clasped and her eyes alight with excitement. “Don’t you know me?” asked Rudolf, standing opposite the old woman and smiling down on her.
There, in the dim light of the low-roofed passage, Mother Holf was fairly puzzled. She knew the story of Mr. Rassendyll; she knew that he was again in Ruritania, it was no surprise to her that he should be in Strelsau; but she did not know that Rupert had killed the king, and she had not seen the king close at hand since his illness and his beard impaired what had been a perfect likeness. In fine, she could not tell whether it were indeed the king who spoke to her or his counterfeit.
“Who are you?” she asked, curt and blunt in her confusion. The girl broke in with an amused laugh.
“Why, it’s the—” She paused. Perhaps the king’s identity was a secret.
Rudolf nodded to her. “Tell her who I am,” said he.
“Why, mother, it’s the king,” whispered Rosa, laughing and blushing. “The king, mother.”
“Ay, if the king’s alive, I’m the king,” said Rudolf. I suppose he wanted to find out how much the old woman knew.
She made no answer, but stared up at his face. In her bewilderment she forgot to ask how he had learnt the signal that gained him admission.
“I’ve come to see the Count of Hentzau,” Rudolf continued. “Take me to him at once.”
The old woman was across his path in a moment, all defiant, arms akimbo.