prosperously concluded, it lay on Colonel Sapt to secure security as to the king ever having been in need of rescue. Antoinette de Mauban and Johann, the keeper (who, indeed, was too much hurt to be wagging his tongue just now), were sworn to reveal nothing; and Fritz went forth to find—not the king, but the unnamed friend of the king, who had lain in Zenda and flashed for a moment before the dazed eyes of Duke Michael's servants on the drawbridge. The metamorphosis had happened: and the king, wounded almost to death by the attacks of the jailers who guarded his friend, had at last overcome them, and rested now, wounded, but alive, in Black Michael's own room in the castle. There he had been carried, his face covered with a cloak, from the cell; and thence orders issued that if his friend were found he should be brought directly and privately to the king, and that meanwhile messengers should ride at full speed to Tarlenheim to tell Marshal Strakencz to assure the princess of the king's safety, and to come himself with all speed to greet the king. The princess was enjoined to remain at Tarlenheim,
