round it to the side on which it was adjoined by the sheds and stables. “Where's Whirlwind?” he suddenly asked. Krafft indicated a small window about nine feet from the ground. “Lean against the wall,” whispered Prokop, climbed on to his back and then stood on his shoulders so as to look inside. Krafft nearly fell under his weight, and to make matters worse Prokop was dancing on his shoulders—what was he doing? A heavy window-frame fell on the ground and a quantity of rubble crumbled down from the wall. Suddenly a beam also dropped and the terrified Krafft raised his head to see two legs disappearing through the window.
The Princess was just giving Whirlwind a piece of bread and looking reflectively at his beautiful eyes when she heard the noise in the window and saw in the twilight of the stable the familiar mutilated hand which was removing the wire screen from the window. She placed her hands on her mouth to prevent herself crying out.
Head first, Prokop fell on to Whirlwind’s back, jumped down, and there he was, certainly torn, but intact, out of breath and attempting a smile. “Quiet,” said the Princess fearfully, for there was a groom just behind the door. Then she threw her arms round his neck: “Prokopokopak!” He pointed to the window outside. ‘“Where?” whispered the Princess, kissing him.
“To the doorkeeper.”
“You stupid! How many are there of you?”
“Three.”
“You can see it’s no good!” She stroked his face. “Don’t attempt it.”
