"Heaven console you in your distress," said Plavacete.
"Thanks, good traveller. Whither are you going?"
"To the castle of Dede-Vsevede, in search of three hairs from his head."
"You are really going to the castle of Dede-Vsevede? What a pity you did not come some weeks ago! We have long been waiting such an envoy as you."
Plavacete was introduced to the Court of the King, who said to him:—
"We have learned that you are bound on a mission to the castle of Dede-Vsevede: alas! we had here an apple-tree which produced youth-giving fruit; one only of its apples, as soon as it was eaten, even by a person at the point of death, instantly cured and rejuvenated him. But for the last twenty years this tree has not borne either flower or fruit. Will you promise me to ask the cause of Dede-Vsevede?"
"I promise you."
After that, Plavacete came to a large, beautiful, but silent city. Near the gate he met an old man, who, staff in hand, was hobbling along with great difficulty.
"Heaven bless you, good old man!"
"Heaven bless you! Whither are you going, handsome traveller?"