"To tell the truth," the Prince confessed, "I was afraid they might be running about the floor in the dark and—something might eat them by mistake."
"Well," the cat answered, with a look as near a blush as a cat can come to such a thing, "you may be right. One never can tell what may happen. It is now almost on the stroke of twelve, and we must make haste. Run out to the terrace and see if the peahen has laid an egg. If she has, bring it in here to me; and be very quick!"
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the Prince hastened to do as he was bid. He found an egg, indeed, and rushing back to the palace reached the hall just as the clock sounded the first stroke of twelve.
"Break it exactly across the middle, and do it with three blows," the cat commanded.
The Prince obeyed, and from the shattered fragments of the shell, just as the last stroke of twelve ceased, out stepped the Fairy Copetta, as sharp, fresh, and brisk from top to toe as if she had just been made, and not in the least as if she had found her quarters in the peahen's egg either close or confining. She shook out her petticoat with a brisk little flirt, hopped lightly down from the table, and hit the Prince a tap on the head with her cane.
"Well," she said sharply, "how about the Blue Wizard? Do you like him as well as you thought you should?"
"I don't know," stammered the poor Prince, decidedly taken aback by his godmother's sudden appearance. "Did I say I liked him? I had forgotten—I mean I don't like him at all, if you please, Godmother."
"Oh!" exclaimed the old lady, mockingly, "don't you, really? Yet, if I remember rightly, you quite longed for a visit from him a while ago. Well, then, how about the giant of Bogarru and the Funny Man, both intimate friends of mine—did you like them, eh? Did you find them witty and agreeable? Did they treat you with great respect because you were a real live prince, eh?"