Present, Past--and Future?

　　The details of my return home can have but little interest. I wentstraight to the Tyrol and spent a quiet fortnight--mostly on my back, for asevere chill developed itself; and I was also the victim of a nervousreaction, which made me weak as a baby. As soon as I had reached myquarters, I sent an apparently careless postcard to my brother, announcingmy good health and prospective return. That would serve to satisfy theinquiries as to my whereabouts, which were probably still vexing thePrefect of the Police of Strelsau. I let my moustache and imperial growagain; and as hair comes quickly on my face, they were respectable,though not luxuriant, by the time that I landed myself in Paris and calledon my friend George Featherly. My interview with him was chieflyremarkable for the number of unwilling but necessary falsehoods that Itold; and I rallied him unmercifully when he told me that he had made uphis mind that I had gone in the track of Madame de Mauban to Strelsau.

　　The lady, it appeared, was back in Paris, but was living in great seclusion-afact for which gossip found no difficulty in accounting. Did not all theworld know of the treachery and death of Duke Michael? Nevertheless,George bade Bertram Bertrand be of good cheer, "for," said he flippantly,"a live poet is better than a dead duke." Then he turned on me and asked:

　　"What have you been doing to your moustache?""To tell the truth," I answered, assuming a sly air, "a man now and thenhas reasons for wishing to alter his appearance. But it's coming on verywell again.""What? Then I wasn't so far out! If not the fair Antoinette, there was acharmer?""There is always a charmer," said I, sententiously.

　　But George would not be satisfied till he had wormed out of me (hetook much pride in his ingenuity) an absolutely imaginary love-affair,attended with the proper soupcon of scandal, which had kept me all thistime in the peaceful regions of the Tyrol. In return for this narrative, George regaled me with a great deal of what he called "insideinformation" (known only to diplomatists), as to the true course of eventsin Ruritania, the plots and counterplots. In his opinion, he told me, with asignificant nod, there was more to be said for Black Michael than thepublic supposed; and he hinted at a well-founded suspicion that themysterious prisoner of Zenda, concerning whom a good many paragraphshad appeared, was not a man at all, but (here I had much ado not to smile)a woman disguised as a man; and that strife between the King and hisbrother for this imaginary lady's favour was at the bottom of their quarrel.

　　"Perhaps it was Madame de Mauban herself," I suggested.

　　"No!" said George decisively, "Antoinette de Mauban was jealous ofher, and betrayed the duke to the King for that reason. And, to confirmwhat I say, it's well known that the Princess Flavia is now extremely coldto the King, after having been most affectionate."At this point I changed the subject, and escaped from George's"inspired" delusions. But if diplomatists never know anything more thanthey had succeeded in finding out in this instance, they appear to me to besomewhat expensive luxuries.

　　While in Paris I wrote to Antoinette, though I did not venture to callupon her. I received in return a very affecting letter, in which she assuredme that the King's generosity and kindness, no less than her regard for me,bound her conscience to absolute secrecy. She expressed the intention ofsettling in the country, and withdrawing herself entirely from society.

　　Whether she carried out her designs, I have never heard; but as I have notmet her, or heard news of her up to this time, it is probable that she did.

　　There is no doubt that she was deeply attached to the Duke of Strelsau;and her conduct at the time of his death proved that no knowledge of theman's real character was enough to root her regard for him out of herheart.

　　I had one more battle left to fight--a battle that would, I knew, besevere, and was bound to end in my complete defeat. Was I not back fromthe Tyrol, without having made any study of its inhabitants, institutions,scenery, fauna, flora, or other features? Had I not simply wasted my timein my usual frivolous, good-for-nothing way? That was the aspect of the matter which, I was obliged to admit, would present itself to my sister-inlaw;and against a verdict based on such evidence, I had really no defenceto offer. It may be supposed, then, that I presented myself in Park Lane ina shamefaced, sheepish fashion. On the whole, my reception was not soalarming as I had feared. It turned out that I had done, not what Rosewished, but--the next best thing-- what she prophesied. She had declaredthat I should make no notes, record no observations,gather no materials.

　　My brother, on the other hand, had been weak enough to maintain that aserious resolve had at length animated me.

　　When I returned empty-handed, Rose was so occupied in triumphingover Burlesdon that she let me down quite easily, devoting the greater partof her reproaches to my failure to advertise my friends of my whereabouts.

　　"We've wasted a lot of time trying to find you," she said.

　　"I know you have," said I. "Half our ambassadors have led weary liveson my account. George Featherly told me so. But why should you havebeen anxious? I can take care of myself.""Oh, it wasn't that," she cried scornfully, "but I wanted to tell youabout Sir Jacob Borrodaile. You know, he's got an Embassy --at least, hewill have in a month--and he wrote to say he hoped you would go withhim.""Where's he going to?""He's going to succeed Lord Topham at Strelsau," said she. "Youcouldn't have a nicer place, short of Paris.""Strelsau! H'm!" said I, glancing at my brother.

　　"Oh, THAT doesn't matter!" exclaimed Rose impatiently. "Now, youwill go, won't you?""I don't know that I care about it!""Oh, you're too exasperating!""And I don't think I can go to Strelsau. My dear Rose, would it be-suitable?""Oh, nobody remembers that horrid old story now."Upon this, I took out of my pocket a portrait of the King of Ruritania.

　　It had been taken a month or two before he ascended the throne. She couldnot miss my point when I said, putting it into her hands:

　　"In case you've not seen, or not noticed, a picture of Rudolf V, there heis. Don't you think they might recall the story, if I appeared at the Court ofRuritania?"My sister-in-law looked at the portrait, and then at me.

　　"Good gracious!" she said, and flung the photograph down on theta............