"Thank you," Plourr says, with great dignity -- and then there is the patter of small, unsteadily running feet, and familiar (maniacal) childish laughter, fading into the distance.

Or the hallway. Whatever.

The empress pats her husband on the shoulder and says, "Do something about food, would you?" With that singularly romantic request, she heaves herself up, shouts, "You'd better run!" (and hears a peal of giggles in response), and goes in search of the runaway princess.