direction,” said Prokop to himself, and descended a little. But at this point there appeared on the road a squadron of cavalry with drawn sabres, advancing directly upon him. Prokop drew his knees up to his chin, so that they should not slash at him; but through this movement received such an impulse that he once more flew up to a height like an arrow. When he looked down again he saw everything small as on a map; down on the main road there was moving a tiny battery of artillery, the polished muzzle of a gun was turned upwards, a small white cloud appeared and bang! The first shell flew over Prokop’s head. They’re firing at me, he thought, and quickly waved his arms so as to descend. Bang! Another shell whizzed passed Prokop’s nose. He took to flight as quickly as he was able. Bang! A third shell struck away his wings and Prokop shot head downwards to earth and woke up. Some one was knocking at the door.
“Come in,” cried Prokop, and sprang up, not knowing what it was all about.
There entered the room a white-haired aristocratic-looking gentleman in black, who bowed deeply.
Prokop remained standing and waited to see what the distinguished gentleman might say.
“Drehbein,” said the minister (at least!) and bowed again.
Prokop bowed equally deeply. “Prokop,” he introduced himself. “What can I do for you?”
“If you will kindly remain standing for a moment.”
