(The children are soon asleep. She wanders aimlessly to the door. The wall closes on the little room, and we now see her standing in the street. Our POLICEMAN returns and flashes his lantern on her.)
CINDERELLA. It’s you!
POLICEMAN. It’s me. But there’s no Godmother! There’s not a soul.... No.... Good night, Cinderella. Go inside.
CINDERELLA (doggedly). Not me! I don’t feel the cold—not much. And one has to take risks to get a Prince. The only thing I’m feared about is my feet. If they was to swell I mightn’t be able to get the slippers on, and he would have naught to do with me.
POLICEMAN. What slippers? If you won’t go back, I’ll stop here with you.
CINDERELLA. No, I think there’s more chance of her coming if I’m alone.
POLICEMAN. I’m very troubled about you.
CINDERELLA (wistfully). Do you think I’m just a liar? Maybe I am. You see I’m all mixed up. I’m sore in need of somebody to help me out.
POLICEMAN. I would do it if I could.
CINDERELLA. I’m sure. (Anxiously.) Are you good at riddles?