When the Princess Gentianella heard that, she dropped straight down on the ground and burst into tears, and her tears rained all over the garden in showers; and wherever they fell, the flowers began to grow,—first of all, snowdrops and primroses and daffodils, then red poppies and blue larkspurs and white lilies, then hollyhocks and nasturtiums and mignonette, and last of all, roses,—red roses, pink roses, yellow roses, all sorts of roses. And the scent from all these flowers was so delicious that the little Princess lifted her head at last and looked round.
"Oh!" she cried, starting to her feet; "some one has made the flowers grow in the Prince's garden!"
"Some one certainly has," chuckled a voice from the top of the wall; and there sat the same wymp as before, looking just as though he had never gone away to the back of the sun at all. At the same instant, the people's voices sounded louder than ever from the kingdom close by.
"The flowers have learned the way to grow in the Prince's garden," they were shouting; "and the Prince will not be executed, after all!"
Princess Gentianella danced for joy, in and out of the Prince's bright flower-beds. "The Prince will not be executed, after all," she said, too.
"And he will be able to marry Anemone, the Witch's beautiful daughter," added the wymp.
All the laughter died out of Princess Gentianella's face, and she looked up at the wymp in a very woe-begone manner indeed.
"Oh," she said piteously, "I never thought of that. I—I had quite forgotten that he was somebody else's Prince."
The wymp fairly wimpled when he saw the poor little Princess looking so unhappy. "Don't you fret about that, my little dear," he cried. "Do you suppose the Witch's daughter wants anybody else's Prince, either?"
Princess Gentianella clapped her hands with delight. "Of course she doesn't!" she cried. "But perhaps she does not know he is somebody else's Prince."