As they passed the grave, the two Doves were sitting on the hazel-tree, and crying:
‘Prithee, look back, prithee, look back,
There’s blood on the track,
The shoe is too small,
At home the true Bride is waiting thy call.’
He looked down at her foot and saw that it was streaming with blood, and there were deep red spots on her stockings. Then he turned his horse and brought the false Bride back to her home.
‘This is not the right one either,’ he said. ‘Have you no other daughter?’
‘No,’ said the man. ‘There is only a daughter of my late wife’s, a puny, stunted drudge, but she cannot possibly be the Bride.’
The Prince said that she must be sent for.
But the Mother answered, ‘Oh no, she is much too dirty; she mustn’t be seen on any account.’
He was, however, absolutely determined to have his way, and they were obliged to summon Ashenputtel.
When she had washed her hands and face, she went up and curtsied to the Prince, who handed her the golden slipper.
Then she sat down on a bench, pulled off her wooden clog and put on the slipper, which fitted to a nicety.