"There's nothing to laugh at!" cried Berengar, angrily. "And I shall tell papa and then you shall see."
"But, Berengar," said the empress, "did you expect the man to present arms to you every time you ran past him while you were playing touch?"
Berengar reflected:
"He might at least have done it the second time. If it had been three, or four, or five times, I could have understood.... But only the second time!... What can the boys have thought of me?"
"Listen, Berengar," said the empress, "whatever happens, it is not at all proper for you to call people names, whoever they may be, nor to make such a noise in the park, right behind the palace. An emperor's son never calls names, not even to a sentry. So now you must go straight to that sentry and tell him you are sorry you lost your temper so."
"Mamma!" cried the child, in consternation.
The empress' face was inflexible:
"I insist, Berengar."
The boy looked at her with the greatest astonishment:
"But am I to say that ... to the sentry, mamma?"