What were you wondering?"

It was very like the scene in the schoolroom. There was no pertness in
Sara's manner. It was only sad and quiet.

"I was wondering," she said in a low voice, "what MY papa would say if
he knew where I am tonight."

Miss Minchin was infuriated just as she had been before and her anger
expressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion. She flew at
her and shook her.

"You insolent, unmanageable child!" she cried. "How dare you! How
dare you!"

She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into the
hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Ermengarde's arms, and pushed
her before her toward the door.

"I will leave you to wonder," she said. "Go to bed this instant." And
she shut the door behind herself and poor stumbling Ermengarde, and
left Sara standing quite alone.

The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died out of the
paper in the grate and left only black tinder; the table was left bare,
the golden plates and richly embroidered napkins, and the garlands were
transformed again into old handkerchiefs, scraps of red and white
paper, and discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor; the
minstrels in the minstrel gallery had stolen away, and the viols and
bassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her back against the wall,
staring very hard. Sara saw her, and went and picked her up with
trembling hands.

"There isn't any banquet left, Emily," she said. "And there isn't any
princess. There is nothing left but the prisoners in the Bastille."
And she sat down and hid her face.

What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then, and if she
had chanced to look up at the skylight at the wrong moment, I do not
know--perhaps the end of this chapter might have been quite
different--because if she had glanced at the skylight she would
certainly have been startled by what she would have seen. She would
have seen exactly the same face pressed against the glass and peering
in at her as it had peered in earlier in the evening when she had been
talking to Ermengarde.

But she did not look up. She sat with her little black head in her
arms for some time. She always sat like that when she was trying to
bear something in silence. Then she got up and went slowly to the bed.

"I can't pretend anything else--while I am awake," she said. "There
wouldn't be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhaps a dream will
come and pretend for me."