The old woman had risen early to sell herbs in the town, and had gone off in such haste that she had left her bed unmade, with her great night-cap on the pillow.
"Good!" said the wolf to himself, "I know what I'll do."
He shuts the door, pulls on the grandmother's night-cap down to his eyes; then he lies down all his length in the bed and draws the curtains.
In the meantime the good Blanchette went quietly on her way, as little girls do, amusing herself here and there by picking Easter daisies, watching the little birds making their nests, and running after the butterflies which fluttered in the sunshine.
At last she arrives at the door.
Knock, knock.
"Who is there?" says the wolf, softening his rough voice as best he can.
"It's me, granny, your Little Golden Hood. I'm bringing you a big piece of cake for your Sunday treat to-morrow."
"Press your finger on the latch; then push and the door opens."
"Why, you've got a cold, granny," said she, coming in.