Another day he would select some other corridor in which to lay a similar trap, and once again he would sit himself down with his legs stretched out in front of him. Then one of the Ladies of the Court, mayhap, or one of the Lords or pages, would stumble across him; and if they fell down and hurt themselves, he took delight in their discomfiture. But he never laughed. And if by chance any one knocked against him but did not fall down, he would cry out as if he had been struck. He liked to see the other's fright. But he never laughed. His Sacred Majesty was informed of these goings-on, and he commanded that no notice should be taken of the child, saying that if his son did not want people to walk over his legs he should not place his legs in a position where they were liable to be walked over. Philip was angry at this, but he said nothing and was no more seen, till one fine summer day when he went out into the courtyard to warm his shivering body in the sun. Charles, riding back from the war, saw his son thus brewing his melancholy. "How now?" cried the Emperor. "What a difference there is between us two, my son! At your age I loved nothing better than to go climbing trees after squirrels. Or, with the aid of a rope, to clamber down some steep cliff to take young eagles out of their nests. I might easily have broken my bones at the game; but they only grew the harder. And when I went out hunting, the deer fled into the thickets at sight of me, armed with my trusty arquebus." "Ah, my Lord Father," sighed the child, "but you see, I have the stomach-ache." "For that," said Charles, "good wine from Paxarete is a most certain remedy." "I don't like wine. I have a headache, my Lord Father." "Then you should run and jump and play about like other children of your age." "I have stiff legs, my Lord Father." "And how should it be otherwise," said Charles, "seeing that you make no more use of them than if they were of wood? But you shall go riding on a high-mettled horse." The child began to cry. "Oh no, for mercy's sake! I have a pain in my back!" "Come, come," said Charles, "are you ill everywhere then?" "I should not be ill at all," answered the child, "if only they would let me alone." "Do you think to pass your royal life away in dreams like a scholar?" the Emperor asked impatiently. "Such people as that, if indeed it be necessary for the inking of their parchments, may rightly seek out silence, solitude, retirement from the world. But for thee, son of the sword, I would desire warm blood, a lynx's eye, a fox's craft, and the strength of Hercules. Why do you cross yourself? Blood of God! What should a lion's cub be doing with this mimicry of women at their prayers!" "Hark! It is the Angelus, my Lord Father," answered the child. XII