So the Prince went. The cormorant’s wings bore him safely over the desert, and the witch’s shoe opened for him the Great Gates. Once through them, he procured himself a horse, and at last reached the borders of the kingdom where his heart lay; here he proceeded more slowly, only journeying by night, as he wished no one to see him who might tell the Princess of his return.
One morning early the little boy rose and went, as he always did, to a high turret in the palace to look down the road leading to the nearest city, and to see whether his Prince was coming home.
As he sat with the morning breeze lifting his hair, straining his eyes towards the white road which lay between the ripening corn-fields, he saw a solitary horseman approaching, and, in great excitement, he watched him as he advanced. When he was still some way off, the rider put his horse to a gallop, waving his hand, and the child, doubting no longer, rushed at the top of his speed down the turret stair, through the courtyard gate, across the drawbridge, and down the road till he reached the horse’s side and clung, transported with joy, to the stirrup. The Prince stooped and lifted him into the saddle before him.
When the first rapture of greeting was over, the little boy raised his head from his friend’s shoulder.
“Where is your mask?” he inquired.
“It is here, but I do not wear it any more. You see, I am not so ugly now,” said the Prince, smiling.
The little boy hugged him again with delight. “I never saw your face before,” he said, “but I don’t believe you were ever ugly. There is no one in the world like you.”
Then the Prince asked him a thousand questions about the Princess.
“She is not very happy,” replied the child, shaking his head, “for, after you left, she began to miss you and to cry because you had gone, and she has watched for you so long, that she grows paler and sadder every day.”