As soon as the firing of cannon began, all the people ran into the
streets, and the street-cleaners, who were sweeping up the tiles and
broken bits of slate that the storm had torn from the roofs, leaned on
their brooms and listened. The Constable was using a great deal of
powder; the time seemed long to the men and women who were counting the
number of reports, and there seemed no end to the noise. Sixty guns
meant a princess, one hundred and one meant a prince. When the sixty-
first was heard, there was great rejoicing, for then they knew that the
duchess had borne a son; when, however, another shot followed the one
hundred and first, a clever advocate suggested that perhaps there were
two princesses. When one hundred and sixty-one guns had been fired, they
said it might be a boy and a girl; when the one hundred and eightieth
came, the schoolmaster, whose wife had presented him with seven
daughters, exclaimed: "Perhaps there are triplets, 'feminini generis!"
But this supposition was confuted by the next shot. When the firing
ceased after the two hundred and second gun, the people knew that their
beloved duchess was the mother of twin boys.

The city went crazy with joy. Flags bearing the national colours were
hoisted in place of the mourning banners. In the show-windows of the
drapers' shops red, blue, and yellow stuffs were exhibited once more, and
the courtiers smoothed the wrinkles out of their brows, and practised
their smiles again.

Every one was delighted, with the exception of the Astrologer, and a few
old women and wise men, who drew long faces, and said that children born
in such a night had undoubtedly come into the world under inauspicious
signs. In the ducal palace itself the joy was not unclouded, and it was
precisely the most faithful and devoted of the servants who seemed most
depressed, and who held long conferences together.