He did the honours by offering her some snow broth, which she declined. Then she thought she ought to say something, so she remarked, with a touch of family pride—
"I had no idea that Grandfather had built such a fine place as this."
"I think the credit is entirely mine," protested her companion with an amused chuckle. "I provide the material, you see, or there would have been no 'fine place' at all. See my point?"
"Yes, your Majesty," she assented, for she knew it wasn't polite to argue—especially with a royal personage.
"This way!" he exclaimed, and led her down another passage on the right, and halted to push open a swing door of ice a little way, and genially patted her on the cheek—which was kindly meant no doubt, but his touch nipped her with cold so that she shivered.
"I shall be on guard outside. If you want me, call me!" Almost as soon as she heard the words the heavy door swung to behind her, and she found herself alone in a great, white, glistening hall with high arches open to the air. Evidently it was scarcely snowing now, for only little isolated flakes came fluttering in. But in their falling they changed into little shadowy girls and boys in white, who danced playfully around her, and their cold white draperies swept lightly about her face, reminding her of the blinding snowstorm she had passed through. But she only wanted to get away to her grandfather now.
Rosella sheltered her face with her muff and ran the gauntlet of the persistent little snowflakes. In a corner she espied a spiral staircase which seemed to lead up into one of the battlemented towers she had noticed outside, and she imagined it a way of escape, so up she ran. The steps were very slippery, but she got up to the top, where, through a narrow loophole, she saw King Frost down below, standing there just as she first saw him when she thought him only a Snow Man. More anxious than ever to know how to get to her grandfather, she called out—
"Your Majesty!" and repeated loudly the two words over and over again, for he either would not or could not hear her. And what was very curious, there was an echo which called back "Rosella! Rosella!" in the same anxious tone.
Talking was clearly of no use; she must do something. So she tried to squeeze her muff through the aperture in order to drop it on his head and attract his attention—but it would not go through. It stuck there and closed out her view. Try as she would she could not release it; and with a gulp in her throat she realised she would have to leave it. Her hands grew terribly cold without it, and it was too draughty to remain there.
From the landing on which she stood steps led up higher, so she proceeded to explore, and found herself in an octagonal turret chamber. "I suppose it serves me right, and I am lost, and there's no one to help me!" sighed Rosella.