But the Princess touched it, and was almost ready to cry.
‘Fie, papa!’ said she, ‘it is not made at all, it is natural!’
‘Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get into a bad humour,’ said the Emperor. So the nightingale came forth, and sang so delightfully that at first no one could say anything ill-humoured of her.
‘Superbe! charmant!’ exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter French, each one worse than her neighbour.
‘How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our blessed Empress,’ said an old knight. ‘Oh yes! these are the same tones, the same execution.’
‘Yes! yes!’ said the Emperor, and he wept like a child at the remembrance.
‘I will still hope that it is not a real bird,’ said the Princess.
‘Yes, it is a real bird,’ said those who had brought it. ‘Well, then, let the bird fly,’ said the Princess; and she positively refused to see the Prince.
However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his face over brown and black, pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at the door.