“Do not open the windows,” entreated the consul’s daughter, “for the snow-flakes are drifting with the wind, and the night air is chill.” A shudder passed over her, so they opened only the doors of the grand saloon. But one of the warm and weary dancers went out secretly, and opened the carved oval window of the great hall. Then, louder than ever, the clear voices floated into the hall, and in all the winding corridors found a hundred echoes, till the whole castle reverberated with them:—
“The consul’s daughter is fair, we know,
But not like the princess Golden Snow.
There are lovely maids at the castle ball,
But Golden Snow is fairer than all.”
The consul’s daughter was again frantic with rage; her eyes glared with fury, and her face grew frightful with the heat of passion. The dream had passed forever from the heart of the prince, and he wondered that, only a moment before, he had thought the face, so contorted with anger, beautiful as a painter’s bright ideal.
Everywhere they searched, but could find no one, so, while the mystery deepened, the ball ended.
In the morning, the prince mounted a fine black horse, and started off as for a long journey. For months he wandered over the northern Gold Land, seeking everywhere the princess Golden Snow.
At last, when he had given up all hope, and was returning disappointed to the castle, he chanced to ride by the fisherman’s cottage. The old fisher folk sat in the corner mending a net, and Golden Snow, in her rich, marvelous voice, was singing to them one of the songs of the sea. The prince stopped his horse and listened, drinking in every note of the delicious melody. When it was ended, he dismounted, and, leading his horse by the bridle, knocked at the door, and the good-wife opened it.
“Tell me, good mother, who it was singing, for, in all my life, never a voice came so into my heart.”