"Well, then," said the gate-keeper, seating himself by the fountain—which was not a fountain at all, but only an imitation very skillfully done in aquamarine—"you are to stay here a year. Then, when the spring comes you are to be changed into a primrose, if you will consent to it, and grow up out of the ground like other flowers. Hidden deep within the woods, you must wait patiently, through sunshine and rain, till some one finds you, and breaks you from the stem. Whoever he may be, rich or poor, young or old, if he loves the flower well enough to take it home, and place it carefully in a vase of water, he will have the power of transforming it into a mortal, and you will be restored to your home in a world where the sun shines and where flowers grow."
"Dear! dear!" said the princess, "I suppose I must consent, if that is the only way of making my escape. But what if no one comes into the woods, and what if no one cares enough for the primrose to pick it?"
"Then it will wither on its stem, and you must come back to us, and be the Princess Bébè for another year."
The trial which was proposed to her seemed a very hard one, and the year which followed seemed very long. If it had not been for the kindness of the gate-keeper, who amused her by showing her all the curiosities which the kingdom of the mineral-workers contained, and explaining how the gems were cleaned and polished and cut, I am afraid the poor Princess Bébè would have died of homesickness long before spring. But at last the year came to an end, as all years must, and she started on her journey into the upper world.
Day after day she struggled through the earth, pushing her roots deep down into the soil, and stretching her slender leaf-like arms up into the sunlight. The dew came and kissed the little flower-bud with sweet moist lips, the sunshine warmed it, and the south wind sang to it, until at last a yellow primrose opened its eyes in the dark woods.
Day after day it lived there, trembling at the sound of every footstep, and wishing and praying deep down in its flower-heart for a friend.
June days had never seemed so long as these, for, despite her prayers, no one came, and the lonely primrose grew faint and weary with disappointment.
At last, however, a party of children playing in the woods caught sight of her bright face, and one of them—a merry, rosy-cheeked boy—broke the flower from its stem. He held it up to his companions, and they ran laughing after him.
"Oh, it's nothing but a yellow primrose," he said, as they tried to snatch the flower from his hand; and with these words he threw it away.
So it was all in vain that the little flower had lived and died, for the next day the Princess Bébè found herself back in the kingdom of the mineral-workers.