“If you had been to the ball, you would not have thought it late,” said her sisters. “There came the most beautiful princess that ever was seen. She was very polite to us, and loaded us with oranges and grapes.”
“Who was she?” asked Cinderella.
“Nobody knew her name. The prince would give his eyes to know.”
“Ah! how I should like to see her,” said Cinderella. “Oh, do, my Lady Javotte,”—that was the name of the elder sister,—“lend me the yellow dress you wear every day, and let me go to the ball and have a peep at the beautiful princess.”
“What! lend my yellow gown to a cinder-maid! I am not so silly as that.”
Cinderella was not sorry to have Javotte say no; she would have been puzzled to know what to do if her sister had really lent her the dress she begged for.
The next night came, and the sisters again went to the court ball. After they had gone, the fairy came as before and made Cinderella ready.
“Now remember,” she said, as the coach drove away, “remember twelve o’clock.”
Cinderella was even more splendid than on the first night, and the king’s son never left her side He said so many pretty things that Cinderella could think of nothing else. She forgot the fairy’s warning; she forgot her promise. Eleven o’clock came, but she did not notice the striking. The half-hour struck, but the prince grew more charming, and Cinderella could hear nothing but his voice. The last quarter—but still Cinderella sat by the prince.
Then the great clock on the tower struck the first stroke of twelve. Up sprang Cinderella, and fled from the room. The prince started to follow her, but she was too swift for him; in her flight, one of her glass slippers fell from her feet, and he stopped to pick it up.