"Mama had got up and all three stood there and silently shook hands like at a funeral.
"'Where is Martha?' I cried once more.
"'Go and look after her,' said papa, 'she will want you.'
"I rushed out, up the stairs to her room. It was locked.
"'Martha, open the door! It is I.'
"Nothing stirred.
"I begged, I implored, I promised to make everything right again. I lavished endearing epithets upon her--that, too, was in vain. Nothing was audible except from time to time a deep breath which sounded like a gasp from a half-throttled throat.
"Then rage seized me, that I should be everywhere repulsed.
"'I suppose I am just good enough to prepare the mourning repast.' I said, laughing out loud, ran to the maids and had six young chickens killed and even stood by calmly while the poor little creatures' blood squirted out of their necks.
"One of them, a young cockerel, quite desperately beat its wings and crowed for very terror of death, while it thrust its spurs at the maid's fingers.