It was a most magnificent ball; and the hundredth Princess did come to it. For, just as the King finished dancing with the last of the ninety-nine princesses, a great hubbub was heard in the hall outside; and into the room ran the little scullery-maid, and after her ran the chief cook with the soup-ladle in his hand, and after them both came the Prime Minister, and the chief huntsman, and the Lord High Executioner, and all the other people who were in the hall because they did not know how to dance.
"Who are you?" cried the ninety-nine princesses, as the little scullery-maid stood in front of them all, in her crumpled print gown, with her green handkerchief tied over her head.
"Who are you?" echoed all the courtiers and all the pages who happened to be there.
"She is nothing but a scullery-maid," cried the chief cook, brandishing his soup-ladle.
"She is the Green Enchantress," gasped the chief huntsman.
"You are all talking rubbish," said the Prime Minister, who had certainly lost some of his manners since he took to speaking the truth. "Any one can see she is the hundredth Princess!"
But it was the King who really settled the matter.
"She is the Queen, of course," he said gently, and came and took her by the hand. And no one thought of contradicting him, for, although real princesses have to make themselves, it is quite certain that any king can make a queen.
When the ninety-nine princesses saw how charming the little Queen was, they crowded round her with one accord and gave her ninety-nine kisses. So they were real princesses, after all! "Tell us," they begged her afterwards, "are you really the Green Enchantress?"