Then the lady remembered the King, for she had been at her post when he received his dismissal, and, under her breath, she had called the Princess a fool. She had lived long enough in the world to know a man when she saw one.
“I never take bribes,” she said, “nor, as a rule, do I tolerate those who offer them; but if you will tell me the truth, I will do my best to bring the King and my mistress together.”
So the old man told her all.
When the lady returned to the palace, she took the fragments of the wreath and put them carefully together. The petals she collected and sewed into their right places with fine silk; it was so deftly done that no one could suspect them of having been broken.
The next day there was to be a banquet at the palace, and before the time came for the Princess to get ready, the lady took one of her maids aside. “While you are fastening the pins of Her Royal Highness’s veil,” said she, “and before you put on her crown, you must scream as though you had pricked your finger. Do as I tell you and ask no questions, for I myself will be present and keep her wrath from you.”
So when the Princess sat before her mirror, the maid brought her veil and began to fasten it, while the lady stood by with the wreath concealed in her wide sleeve. All at once the girl shrieked aloud: “Oh! oh! I have torn my finger with a pin!”
“You unmannerly jade!” cried the lady, “will you make all this to-do while Her Highness is dressing? Off with you, and I will fasten the crown myself.”
And she thrust her from the room and took her place.
Suddenly the Princess looked up into the glass, and saw, instead of her crown, the wreath of half-opened flowers with their golden centres glowing through her hair. She put up her hand to tear the thing from her head; but just as she was going to do so, her lips trembled, and she leaned, sobbing, against the table, her face buried in her hands.
* * * * *