“Many years ago I lived, with my grandchildren, in a cabin by a lonely wood. One stormy night a woman, a coarse-featured woman, came to my door, bringing a young child, which she had stolen for the sake of the jewels he wore.
“This woman offered me one half, provided I would allow them to remain hidden there, until her strength returned, when she would go on with her journey.
“I accepted this offer, thinking she would soon be gone, and that the jewels would make me rich.”
“You thief! wretch!” cried King Brondé.
“True, both true,” answered the old woman; “but permit me to go on with the story; for not many days are left me, and I would do one good act before I die.
“The woman never recovered her strength. She died there, in my cabin. Before her death she confessed to me that this stolen child was the son of the king. She had enticed him from his attendants, while they were walking with him, in the grounds belonging to the palace.
“I dared not remain in the country with the child, for if he were found in my hands it would be certain death to me. I therefore fled with him and my two grandchildren into another kingdom, where I dwelt in a little hut by the sea.
“The boy grew up, fair, and with a true princely look. I compelled him, until all danger of pursuit was over, to go meanly clad and dirty, lest his beauty should attract the notice of some passing traveller.
“And now, when all are making bridal presents, I come also with a gift to the bridegroom. I present to him a father. Great king, you have no longer a trouble: this is your lost boy.”