Jane: And what happened to the King.
"Please, Martin," said little Joan, "please don't let the story come to an end before we know what happened to the Wanderer."
"I'm tired of telling stories," said Martin, "and I'll never tell another as long as I live. But I suppose I must add the trimmings to this one, or I shall get no peace.")
All these things, dear maidens, are very quickly told, except what the Princess looked like, for that is impossible. No man ever knew. He never got further than her eyes, and then he was drowned. But what does it matter how she looked? She died a thousand years ago of a broken heart. And her Squire, hearing of her death, died too, a thousand leagues away. And the King her father expired of remorse, and his country went to rack and ruin. And the five kind Gorgons had to pay the penalty of their regained humanity, and wilted into their maiden graves. Only the Sixth Gorgon lived on for ever and ever. I dare not think of her solitary eternity. But as for the Wanderer, he is of no importance. A little while he still went wandering, singing these lovers' sorrows to the world, and what became of him I never knew.
That's the end.
And now, dear Mistress Joscelyn, let me lace up your shoe.
(Joscelyn buried her face in her hands and burst out crying.)