‘Perhaps you know nothing of Court life?’ she resumed.  ’We have very curious performances in Sarkeld, and we owe it to the margravine that we are frequently enlivened.  You see the tall gentleman who is riding away from her.  I mean the one with the black hussar jacket and thick brown moustache.  That is the prince.  Do you not think him handsome?  He is very kind—­rather capricious; but that is a way with princes.  Indeed, I have no reason to complain.  He has lost his wife, the Princess Frederika, and depends upon his sister the margravine for amusement.  He has had it since she discovered your papa.’

‘Is the gun never going off?’ I groaned.

‘If they would only conduct their ceremonies without their guns!’ exclaimed Miss Sibley.  ’The origin of the present ceremony is this:  the margravine wished to have a statue erected to an ancestor, a renowned soldier—­and I would infinitely prefer talking of England.  But never mind.  Oh, you won’t understand what you gaze at.  Well, the prince did not care to expend the money.  Instead of urging that as the ground of his refusal, he declared there were no sculptors to do justice to Prince Albrecht Wohlgemuth, and one could not rely on their effecting a likeness.  We have him in the dining-hall; he was strikingly handsome.  Afterward he pretended—­I’m speaking now of the existing Prince Ernest—­that it would be ages before the statue was completed.  One day the margravine induced him to agree to pay the sum stipulated for by the sculptor, on condition of the statue being completed for public inspection within eight days of the hour of their agreement.  The whole Court was witness to it.  They arranged for the statue, horse and man, to be exhibited for a quarter of an hour.  Of course, the margravine did not signify it would be a perfectly finished work.  We are kept at a great distance, that we may not scrutinize it too closely.  They unveil it to show she has been as good as her word, and then cover it up to fix the rider to the horse,—­a screw is employed, I imagine.  For one thing we know about it, we know that the horse and the horseman travelled hither separately.  In all probability, the margravine gave the order for the statue last autumn in Berlin.  Now look at the prince.  He has his eye on you.  Look down.  Now he has forgotten you.  He is impatient to behold the statue.  Our chief fear is that the statue will not maintain its balance.  Fortunately, we have plenty of guards to keep the people from pushing against it.  If all turns out well, I shall really say the margravine has done wonders.  She does not look anxious; but then she is not one ever to show it.  The prince does.  Every other minute he is glancing at the tent and at his watch.  Can you guess my idea?  Your father’s absence leads me to think-oh! only a passing glimmer of an idea—­the statue has not arrived, and he is bringing it on.  Otherwise, he would be sure to be here.  The margravine beckons me.’