The Prisoner of Zenda Read Online Free PDF Page A

the forest—which made a very pleasant dream. In fact, I was just impressing a fervent kiss on the charming lips of the princess, when I heard (and the voice seemed at first a part of the dream) someone exclaim, in rough strident tones.
    â€œWhy, the devil’s in it! Shave him, and he’d be the King!”
    The idea seemed whimsical enough for a dream: by the sacrifice of my heavy moustache and carefully pointed imperial, I was to be transformed into a monarch! I was about to kiss the princess again, when I arrived (very reluctantly) at the conclusion that I was awake.
    I opened my eyes, and found two men regarding me with much curiosity. Both wore shooting costumes and carried guns. One was rather short and very stoutly built, with a big bullet-shaped head, a bristly grey moustache, and small pale-blue eyes, a trifle bloodshot. The other was a slender young fellow, of middle height, dark in complexion, and bearing himself with grace and distinction. I set the one down as an old soldier: the other for a gentleman accustomed to move in good society, but not unused to military life either. It turned out afterwards that my guess was a good one.
    The elder man approached me, beckoning the younger to follow. He did so, courteously raising his hat. I rose slowly to my feet.
    â€œHe’s the height, too!” I heard the elder murmur, as he surveyed my six feet two inches of stature. Then, with a cavalier touch of the cap, he addressed me:
    â€œMay I ask your name?”
    â€œAs you have taken the first step in the acquaintance, gentlemen,” said I, with a smile, “suppose you give me a lead in the matter of names.”
    The young man stepped forward with a pleasant smile.
    â€œThis,” said he, “is Colonel Sapt, and I am called Fritz von Tarlenheim: we are both in the service of the King of Ruritania.”
    I bowed and, baring my head, answered:
    â€œI am Rudolf Rassendyll. I am a traveller from England; and once for a year or two I held a commission from her Majesty the Queen.”
    â€œThen we are all brethren of the sword,” answered Tarlenheim, holding out his hand, which I took readily.
    â€œRassendyll, Rassendyll!” muttered Colonel Sapt; then a gleam of intelligence flitted across his face.
    â€œBy Heaven!” he cried, “you’re of the Burlesdons?”
    â€œMy brother is now Lord Burlesdon,” said I.
    â€œThy head betrayeth thee,” he chuckled, pointing to my uncovered poll. “Why, Fritz, you know the story?”
    The young man glanced apologetically at me. He felt a delicacy which my sister-in-law would have admired. To put him at his ease, I remarked with a smile:
    â€œAh! the story is known here as well as among us, it seems.”
    â€œKnown!” cried Sapt. “If you stay here, the deuce a man in all Ruritania will doubt of it—or a woman either.”
    I began to feel uncomfortable. Had I realized what a very plainly written pedigree I carried about with me, I should have thought long before I visited Ruritania. However, I was in for it now.
    At this moment a ringing voice sounded from the wood behind us:
    â€œFritz, Fritz! where are you, man?”
    Tarlenheim started, and said hastily:
    â€œIt’s the King!”
    Old Sapt chuckled again.
    Then a young man jumped out from behind the trunk of a tree and stood beside us. As I looked at him, I uttered an astonished cry; and he, seeing me, drew back in sudden wonder. Saving the hair on my face and a manner of conscious dignity which his position gave him, saving also that he lacked perhaps half an inch—nay, less than that, but still something—of my height, the King of Ruritania might have been Rudolf Rassendyll, and I, Rudolf, the King.
    For an instant we stood motionless, looking at one another. Then I bared my head again and bowed respectfully. The King found his voice, and asked in bewilderment:
    â€œColonel—Fritz—who is this