“It wants but two months to your seventeenth birthday,” replied he, “when you will succeed to the kingdom. If you conceal yourself till then, you can afterwards return and claim it, and your aunt will have no power over your actions when once you are on the throne.”
The next day Princess Moonflower and the faithful Grimaçon fled from the palace. They walked along the most secret and quiet roads for fear of observation, till at last they came to a huge forest, through which they travelled for some distance, and, aching with fatigue, sank down under a tree to rest. The little dwarf, who had been carrying his mistress’s long hair, threw himself at her feet on the grass, for he was very weary.
“Alas, dear Grimaçon,” she said, “how cruel is our lot! We shall certainly be devoured by wild beasts in this terrible wood.” And she began crying and weeping. Her sighs and lamentations might have touched a heart of stone. All at once she looked up, for there stood before her a little crooked woman, more hideous than a witch.
“Daughter,” she croaked in a voice like a raven’s, “will you direct me in the way to the palace?”
The Princess pointed in the direction from which she had just come.
“Go a little distance with me,” implored the hag, “and help me to carry this bundle I have got on my back.”
Poor Moonflower was very tired, but she took up the bundle and, telling Grimaçon to await her in the same spot, she walked off with her strange companion. When they had gone for about half a mile the old woman stopped her.
“A thousand thanks,” she croaked, “and now, I will give you the reward of your civility.”
So saying, she plucked a leaf from a neighbouring bush and presented it to the astonished girl.
“When you are in distress think of me and touch this leaf with the third finger of your left hand.” And, almost before the words were out of her mouth, she had disappeared.