“What more is he to do?” I asked. “Isn’t his work here done?”
“Ay, it’s done. Perhaps it’s done,” he answered. “At least he has given us back our good king.”
To lay on the king the full blame for what he was would have been rank injustice. Sapt was not guilty of it, but his disappointment was bitter that all our efforts had secured no better ruler for Ruritania. Sapt could serve, but he liked his master to be a man.
“Ay, I’m afraid the lad’s work here is done,” he said, as I shook him by the hand. Then a sudden light came in his eyes. “Perhaps not,” he muttered. “Who knows?”
A man need not, I hope, be deemed uxorious for liking a quiet dinner alone with his wife before he starts on a long journey. Such, at least, was my fancy; and I was annoyed to find that Helga’s cousin, Anton von Strofzin, had invited himself to share our meal and our farewell. He conversed with his usual airy emptiness on all the topics that were supplying Strelsau with gossip. There were rumors that the king was ill; that the queen was angry at being carried off to Zenda; that the archbishop meant to preach against low dresses; that the chancellor was to be dismissed; that his daughter was to be married; and so forth. I heard without listening. But the last bit of his budget caught my wandering attention.
“They were betting at the club,” said Anton, “that Rupert of Hentzau would be recalled. Have you heard anything about it, Fritz?”
If I had known anything, it is needless to say that I should not have confided it to Anton. But the suggested step was so utterly at variance with the king’s intentions that I made no difficulty about contradicting the report with an authoritative air. Anton heard me with a judicial wrinkle on his smooth brow.
“That’s all very well,” said he, “and I dare say you’re bound to say so. All I know is that Rischenheim dropped a hint to Colonel Markel a day or two ago.”
“Rischenheim believes what he hopes,” said I.
“And where’s he gone?” cried Anton, exultantly. “Why has he suddenly left Strelsau? I tell you he’s gone to meet Rupert, and I’ll bet you what you like he carries some proposal. Ah, you don’t know everything, Fritz, my boy?”