who is absent on a long journey, has commanded me to feast you.” She turned her head slightly toward the corner of the room. “What, ho, there, minstrels! Strike up with your viols and bassoons. Princesses,” she explained rapidly to Ermengarde and Becky, “always had minstrels to play at their feasts. Pretend there is a minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we will begin.”
They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into their hands—not one of them had time to do more, when—they
from the floor and answered quite dramatically:
“It is the prisoner in the next cell.”
“Becky!” cried Ermengarde, enraptured.
“Yes,” said Sara. “Listen; the two knocks meant, `Prisoner, are you there?’”
She knocked three times on the wall herself, as if in answer.
“That means, `Yes, I am here,