But the king would listen to no such words as these, for it seemed to him that the princess was too beautiful and too good to do such a wicked thing.
After a time there came another baby to the princess, and once more Mother Hildegarde came to her and said, “Did you go into the little room?”
“No,” said the princess.
“Then how came your hair to be like that?”
“I do not know,” said the princess.
So Mother Hildegarde took this baby away as she had done the other, and left the princess with her lips smeared with blood.
And now every one of the king’s household began to mutter and to whisper to his neighbor, and the king had nothing to say, but only left the room silently, for his heart was like heavy lead within his breast. Still he would not hear of harm coming to the princess, no matter what had happened.
In time there came a third baby, but still the princess could not soften her heart, and Mother Hildegarde took it away as she had done the others. This time the king could do nothing to save the princess, for every one cried out upon her that she was a wicked witch who killed her children, and that she should be burned at the stake, as was fitting for such a one. So a great pile of fagots was built out in the castle court-yard, and the princess was brought out and tied to a stake that stood in the midst. Then they lit the pile of fagots, and it began to crackle and burn around her where she stood.
Then suddenly, Mother Hildegarde stood beside her in the midst of the fire. In her arms she held the princess’s youngest baby, and the others stood, one upon one side and the other upon the other, and held on to her skirts.
She gave the princess her speech again, and then she said, “Now, tell me, did you go into the little room?”