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‘That is quite impossible,’ replied the servant.

‘Is it? let us see!’ said the second prince, pushing the servants to right and left.

But the servants were many, and the princes only two. There was the noise of a struggle, which reached the emperor’s ears.

‘What is the matter?’ asked he angrily.

The princes stopped at the sound of their father’s voice.

‘Two boys who want to force their way in,’ replied one of the servants, approaching the emperor.

‘To FORCE their way in? Who dares to use force in my palace? What boys are they?’ said the emperor all in one breath.

‘We know not, O mighty emperor,’ answered the servant, ‘but they must surely be akin to you, for they have the strength of lions, and have scattered the guards at the gate. And they are as proud as they are strong, for they will not take their caps from their heads.’

The emperor, as he listened, grew red with anger.

‘Thrust them out,’ cried he. ‘Set the dogs after them.’

‘Leave us alone, and we will go quietly,’ said the princes, and stepped backwards, weeping silently at the harsh words. They had almost reached the gates when a servant ran up to them.

‘The emperor commands you to return,’ panted he: ‘the empress wishes to see you.’

The princes thought a moment: then they went back the way they had come, and walked straight up to the emperor, their caps still on their heads.

He sat at the top of a long table covered with flowers and filled with guests. And beside him sat the empress, supported by twelve cushions. When the princes entered one of the cushions fell down, and there remained only eleven.

‘Take off your caps,’ said one of the courtiers.

‘A covered head is among men a sign of honour. We wish to seem what we are.’

‘Never mind,’ said the emperor, whose anger had dropped before the silvery tones of the boy’s voice. ‘Stay as you are, but tell me WHO you are! Where do you come from, and what do you want?’

‘We are twins, two shoots from one stem, which has been broken, and half lies in the ground and half sits at the head of this table. We have travelled a long way, we have spoken in the rustle of the wind, have whispered in the wood, we have sung in the waters, but now we wish to tell you a story which you know without knowing it, in the speech of men.’

And a second cushion fell down.

‘Let them take their silliness home,’ said the empress.

‘Oh, no, let them go on,’ said the emperor. ‘You wished to see them, but I wish to hear them. Go on, boys, sing me the story.’

The empress was silent, but the princes began to sing the story of their lives.

‘There was once an emperor,’ began they, and the third cushion fell down.

When they reached the warlike expedition of the emperor three of the cushions fell down at once.

And when the tale was finished there were no more cushions under the empress, but the moment that they lifted their caps, and showed their golden hair and the golden stars, the eyes of the emperor and of all his guests were bent on them, and they could hardly bear the power of so many glances.

And there happened in the end what should have happened in the beginning. Laptitza sat next her husband at the top of the table. The stepmother’s daughter became the meanest sewing maid in the palace, the stepmother was tied to a wild horse, and every one knew and has never forgotten that whoever has a mind turned to wickedness is sure to end badly.

[Rumanische Marchen.]