“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former days nothing of Russia was seen with sight or heard with hearing; but now the odor of Russia goes through the wide world. Whither dost hold thy way, fair maiden?”
“Grandmother, dear, I am seeking Bright Finist the Falcon.”
“Oh! he is going to marry; they have the maiden’s party to-night,” said the Baba-Yaga.
She gave her to eat and drink, and put the maiden to sleep. At daybreak next morning she roused her, gave her a golden plate with a diamond ball, and enjoined on her most firmly, “When thou comest to the shore of the blue sea, roll the diamond ball on the golden plate. The bride of Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers will try to buy the plate and ball; but take nothing for it, only ask to see Bright Finist the Falcon. Now go, with God, to my eldest sister.”
Again the fair maiden goes through the dark forest, goes farther and farther; the forest grows darker and deeper. Now are the third pair of shoes almost trodden out, the third cap is wearing off, the third staff is breaking, and the last cake is gnawed away. On hen’s legs stands an iron hut and turns about.
“Hut, oh, hut!” cried she, “stand with thy back to the trees and thy face to me; I must creep in and eat bread.”
The hut turned. In the hut lay another Baba-Yaga from corner to corner, her lips on the crosspiece, her nose in the loft.
“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former times nothing of Russia was seen with sight nor heard with hearing; but now the odor of Russia goes through the wide world. Where, beautiful maiden, dost thou hold thy way?”
“Grandmother, dear, I am seeking Bright Finist the Falcon.”
“Oh, fair maiden, he has married a Tsar’s daughter! Here is my swift steed; sit on him, and go, with God.”