"Do, kind sirs," she said, "have pity on two poor girls who have no work to do. Think—we are orphans and far from home!"
The smiles on the faces of the war-captains broadened. "Ho! ho! Good!" burst out Boris.
"Ha! ha! Excellent!" assented Jorian, nodding, with his eyes on Martha.
Anna Pappenheim ran quickly on tip-toe round to Boris's back and peered between his shoulders. Then she ran her eyes down to his heels.
"Sister," she cried, "they do it. That dreadful noise comes from somewhere about them. I distinctly saw their jaws waggle. They must of a surety be wound up like an arbalist. Yet I cannot find the string and trigger! Do come and help me, good Marthe! If you find it, I will dance at your wedding in my stocking-feet!"
And the gay Franconian reached up and pulled a stray tag of Boris's jerkin, which hung down his back. The knot slipped, and a circlet of red and gold, ragged at the lower edges, came off in her hand, revealing the fact that Boris's noble soubreveste was no more than a fringe of broidered collar.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Jorian irrepressibly. For Boris looked mightily crestfallen to have his magnificence so rudely dealt with.
Anna von Pappenheim clapped her hands.
"I have found it," she cried. "It goes like this. You touch off the trigger of one, and the other explodes!"
Boris wheeled about with fell intent on his face. He would have caught the teasing minx in his arms, but Anna skipped round behind a chair and threatened him with her finger.