“I don’t see how she’s ever going to find this lost Prince!” said the Queen angrily. “I shall certainly not let my child run about the world looking for him.”
“Fate is stronger than you are,” replied the faery, “and you will see what you will see.” So saying, she suddenly disappeared, and, as the white rose slowly curled up its petals, the Queen knew the Faery Rosina was inside.
The ladies-in-waiting, who had seen the Queen talking to a strange lady, dared not approach before, but now they saw their royal mistress was alone, they ventured to come near, and one of them offered to take the white rosebud which the Queen held.
“Oh no!” cried Flora, hastily drawing back her hand; “I am going to keep this rosebud. It is my”—
She was going to say Princess, but, thinking it wiser to keep her own counsel, she held her tongue, and, on returning to the palace, told no one but the King about the faery’s promise. The King laughed at her, and said he did not believe her story—that she must be dreaming; but the Queen persisted in her tale, that the rosebud would become a Princess, and placed it on a velvet cushion by the side of her bed.
Next morning, at the first break of day, she sprang up out of bed and hurried to look at the cushion, but there lay the rosebud a rosebud still, and not a Princess, as she thought it would be.
Queen Flora was very much disappointed, particularly as the King laughed at her folly for believing she had seen a faery, when suddenly a shaft of golden sunlight shone through the window right on to the cushion, and in an instant, instead of the flower there appeared a beautiful naked baby, who laughed and crowed gaily.
The Queen was nearly mad with joy, and took the baby up in her arms to show the King, who was equally delighted.
“You see there are faeries after all,” he said to the Queen.