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 mitigated in
every possible way. He was proof against their tears, but not
against the money which they finally offered, in order to avert the
storm. The agreement was made, although Waska both scratched his
head and shook it, as he reflected upon the probable result.

The Prince, after his work of destruction, again appeared upon
the steps, and with hoarse voice and flashing eyes, began to
announce that every soul in the castle should receive a hundred
lashes, when a noise was heard in the court, and amid cries of