"Oh, I do wish I could see the lamp," and the child clasped her hands in her eagerness. "I never believed it was true before. Don't you think he would let me look at it?"
"He is away now, as we have just told you."
"But couldn't you let me see it? I've always wondered what it looked like, and thought what I'd wish for, if I had it."
The slaves looked at her suspiciously and began to whisper together. Then one of them turned to her again and spoke, "I cannot promise," he said, "but if you will be pleased to follow me it may be that the soldiers will allow you to see the lamp."
The gander plucked at Ellens sleeve. "Mistress, Mistress, do not follow him," he whispered. "I don't know why, but I fear danger."
Ellen, however, was too eager to heed what the gander said. It was too wonderful a chance to lose; the chance of really seeing—perhaps even handling—the lamp of Aladdin. So she drew her sleeve away, and as the slaves led the way she followed them into a great hallway all of gold, set with patterns of rubies and emeralds.
The hall was empty with no one in sight except themselves, though Ellen could hear a distant sound of music and singing from some other part of the castle.
Along the hall they went, and up a flight of golden steps. After this there was another hall and more stairs and winding ways, until Ellen felt completely lost.
At last they came to a barred and bolted door before which stood two soldiers with drawn swords in their hands. As they saw Ellen and the gander coming up the hall they crossed their swords before the door. "Who are these whom you have dared to bring hither?" they cried to the slaves.
The slaves made a deep reverence. "If you please," answered one of them, "it is one who says she is a child, and who comes begging to see the lamp of Aladdin."