'You are my own boy, Curdie. My child cannot choose but love you, and when you are grown up—if you both will—you shall marry each other, and be king and queen when I am gone. Till then be the king's Curdie.'
Irene held out her arms to Curdie. He raised her in his, and she kissed him.
'And my Curdie too!' she said.
Thereafter the people called him Prince Conrad; but the king always called him either just Curdie, or my miner boy.
They sat down to supper, and Derba and the knight and the housemaid waited, and Barbara sat at the king's left hand. The housemaid poured out the wine; and as she poured for Curdie red wine that foamed in the cup, as if glad to see the light whence it had been banished so long, she looked him in the eyes. And Curdie started, and sprang from his seat, and dropped on his knees, and burst into tears. And the maid said with a smile, such as none but one could smile:
'Did I not tell you, Curdie, that it might be you would not know me when next you saw me?'
Then she went from the room, and in a moment returned in royal purple, with a crown of diamonds and rubies, from under which her hair went flowing to the floor, all about her ruby-slippered feet. Her face was radiant with joy, the joy overshadowed by a faint mist as of unfulfilment. The king rose and kneeled on one knee before her. All kneeled in like homage. Then the king would have yielded her his royal chair. But she made them all sit down, and with her own hands placed at the table seats for Derba and the page. Then in ruby crown and royal purple she served them all.