trick put the Prince in a good humor, some thing presently
occurred which carried him to the opposite extreme. While taking his
customary siesta one afternoon, a wild young fellow--one of his noble
poor relations, who "sponged" at the castle--happened to pass along a
corridor outside of the very hall where his Highness was snoring. Two
ladies in waiting looked down from an upper window. The young fellow
perceived them, and made signs to attract their attention. Having
succeeded in this, he attempted, by all sorts of antics and grimaces, to
make them laugh or speak; but he failed, for the slumber-flag waved
over them, and its fear was upon them. Then, in a freak of incredible
rashness, he sang, in a loud voice, the first line of a popular ditty,
and took to his heels.

No one had ever before dared to insult the sacred quiet. The Prince was
on his feet in a moment, and rushed into the corridor, (dropping his
mantle of sables by the way,) shouting.--

"Bring me the wretch who sang!"

The domestics scattered before him, for his face was terrible to look
upon. Some of them had heard the voice, indeed, but not one of them
had seen the culprit, who al ready lay upon a heap of hay in one of the
stables, and appeared to be sunk in innocent sleep.

"Who was it? who was it?" yelled the Prince, foaming at the mouth with
rage, as he rushed from chamber to chamber.

At last he halted at the top of the great flight of steps leading into
the court-yard, and repeated his demand in a voice of thunder.

The servants, trembling, kept at a safe distance, and some of them
ventured to state that the offender could not be discovered. The Prince
turned and entered one of the state apartments, whence came the sound
of porcelain smashed on the floor, and mirrors shivered on the walls.
Whenever they heard that sound, the immates of the castle knew that a
hurricane was let loose.

They deliberated hurriedly and anxiously. What was to be done? In his
fits of blind animal rage, there was nothing of which the Prince was not
capable, and the fit could be allayed only by finding a victim. No one,
however, was willing to be a Curtius for the others, and meanwhile the
storm was increasing from minute to minute. Some of the more active
and shrewd of the household pitched upon the leader of the band, a
simple-minded, good-natured serf, named Waska. They entreated him
to take upon himself the crime of having sung, offering to have his
punishment mit