"But what is happening? What a noise to make! Send his highness here at once! Berengar! Berengar!"
His highness, Berengar, was called and came. He passed through the little dukes and counts and looked up at the window through which his mother was leaning. He was a small, sturdily built, vigorous little chap; his face was crimson with indignation, his two small, furious eyes were like two black sparks.
"Berengar, come here!" cried the empress. "What is all this? Why can't you play without quarrelling?"
"I'm not quarrelling, mamma, but ... but I shall tell papa ... and ... and then we'll see! Then we'll ..."
"Berengar, come in here at once, through the palace, at once!" commanded the empress.
Othomar looked out from behind the empress at the group of boys. He saw Berengar speak a word of apology to the biggest little duke and disappear through the back-court.
A minute later, the boy entered the room.
"Berengar," said the empress, "it's very bad manners to make such a noise in the park ... and just behind the palace too."
The boy looked at her with his serious little crimson face:
"Yes, mamma," he assented, gently.