While all this was happening to Leo, at the monastery there was great
confusion. The servants had gone in a body to Prince Morpheus's bedroom
to demand their wages. With tearful eyes and wailing voice he had
protested that he had no money, that his life was hanging by a thread,
and that his brain was on fire. They loudly urged their claims,
declaring they would instantly leave the premises unless they were paid.
As they could not get a satisfactory reply from their master, who hid
his eyes at the sight of their angry faces, and put his fingers in his
ears to keep out their noisy voices, they concluded to go; so, packing
their boxes and bags, and pressing the mules and oxen into their
service, they one by one went off to the nearest village.

One old woman, who had never known any other home, alone remained, and
when the storm subsided and the house was quiet, Morpheus, being
hungry, crawled down to the kitchen fire to find her boiling porridge.

"Where is my son?" asked Morpheus.

The old woman was deaf, and only muttered, "Gone--all gone."

"Alas! and has my son also deserted his father?" cried Morpheus.

The old woman nodded, partly with the palsy, and partly because she knew
of nothing to say. Morpheus smote his forehead with a tragic gesture,
and allowed himself to fall--gently--upon the floor. When he had
remained in an apparent swoon long enough he was revived by some hot
porridge being poured down his throat, and his hair and hands sprinkled
with vinegar. Rousing himself as if with great effort, but really with
great ease, he stood up, and finding the kitchen warmer than his cell,
concluded to remain there; but the old woman was too stiff with