"Old woman, you are exceedingly ill-bred," cried a lady-in-waiting. "Even if you did know, how dared you presume to hint that her most gracious Majesty is called Dolorez?"
"Was called Dolorez," said the old woman with a tender solemnity.
The first gentleman, called the Gold-stick-in-waiting, raised the stick to strike her, and all the rest stretched out their hands to seize her; but the gray mantle melted from between their fingers; and there came a heavy, muffled sound.
The great bell of the palace—the bell which was only heard on the death of some of the Royal family, and for as many times as he or she was years old—began to toll. They listened. Some one counted: "one-two-three-four"—up to nine and twenty—just the Queen's age.
The Queen, her Majesty, was dead. In the midst of the festivities she had passed away. When the little prince was carried back to his mother's room, there was no mother to kiss him.
As for his godmother—the little old woman in grey, nobody knew what became of her.
"I MUST KISS HIM, I AM HIS GODMOTHER." [[PAGE 7].]
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