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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

"The Prisoner of Zenda"

Fritz came with the doctor. I kissed the King's
hand, and let Fritz lead me away. I have never seen the King since.
Outside, Fritz turned, not to the right, back towards the drawbridge,
but to the left, and without speaking led me upstairs, through a
handsome corridor in the chateau.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
Looking away from me, Fritz answered:
"She has sent for you. When it is over, come back to the bridge. I'll
wait for you there."
"What does she want?" said I, breathing quickly.
He shook his head.
"Does she know everything?"
"Yes, everything."
He opened a door, and gently pushing me in, closed it behind me. I found
myself in a drawing-room, small and richly furnished. At first I thought
that I was alone, for the light that came from a pair of shaded candles
on the mantelpiece was very dim. But presently I discerned a woman's
figure standing by the window. I knew it was the princess, and I walked
up to her, fell on one knee, and carried the hand that hung by her
side to my lips. She neither moved nor spoke. I rose to my feet, and,
piercing the gloom with my eager eyes, saw her pale face and the gleam
of her hair, and before I knew, I spoke softly:
"Flavia!"
She trembled a little, and looked round. Then she darted to me, taking
hold of me.


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