"To the cells!" shouted the King, and his eyes falling on his jewelled boots, he hastily tore them off and threw them after her as she was carried away.
When, next day, poor little Princess Veronica recovered consciousness and was free from pain she asked for her sister, who came quickly to her side.
"Have you heard," asked Veronica faintly, "that I—I—I am maimed for life? With a broken nose and scarred face I shall not only be ugly but repulsive."
"Poor Veronica! You will then be on the same level with me in the future. How you will miss all the petting, all the love!"
"I suppose my life is spoilt. And when I had beauty, I thought of it and prized it so little. But won't you love me, Christobel?"
"Yes, I will now."
"Why only now?"
"Because I shall always feel sorry for you—I have never felt sorry for any one but myself before—and I shall love you heaps and heaps."
"Don't you think others may feel sorry for me, too?—Poor Prince Olivin! Poor me!" she added with a little moan.
Christobel shook her head sadly. "Beauty is everything! You will understand that now."