The prince went to the door of the tent. The Lapp woman, Pimpedora, was cooking reindeer meat; and her boy, Pimpepanturi, stretched lazily on the soft moss, was sleeping instead of doing something useful while he was waiting for dinner.
"Woman," said the prince, "your husband is dead. Give me back the Princess Lindagull, and no harm shall come to you."
"O mercy! And is he dead?" exclaimed the Lapp woman, coming out of the tent, but not appearing very much distressed. "Ah, well! It's time there should come an end to his evil arts. As for Lindagull, we must seek her out there among the heather blossoms. My husband has changed her into a heather blossom, exactly like many thousands of others; and to-night the frost will come and then all will be over with her!"
"Ah! dearest little Lindagull! Must you die to-night and I not be able to discover the stalk on which you wither?" cried the prince, throwing himself down among the heather on the boundless moor, where a thousand times a thousand pale, purple-pink blossoms, exactly like each other, awaited death.
"Hold!" said the Lapp woman. "Despair not! Now occurs to me the saying with which Lindagull was enchanted! I thought he planned a wrong against the child, and crept back of a big stone to see what my husband was going to do. Then I heard him say:
"Adáma donai Marrabataësan!"
"Ah!" sighed the prince, "how can that help us when we do not know the words which loosen the enchantment?"
Pimpepanturi, waking and thinking that the dinner had been long enough deferred, walked out of the tent to look for his mother. When he heard the prince's words, he scratched his forehead thoughtfully a few times and said, "Father used to change the saying around when he wanted to disenchant any one."
"Yes, so he did!" said the Lapp woman.