“What do you wish me to do?” said I.
“We beseech you to take us with you, to be your servants, your slaves, anything. We can sew, we can knit, we can—”
“But I am going into exile,” said I. “I am going to hide my hideous face from the eyes of the world.”
“Listen, most merciful one! It is known to us that the missing button needs only to be sewn on the doublet by a tailor, with the proper thread, in order that your skin may be white again. Nine tailors are allowed for the trial, and here are eight!”
“But I have neither the button nor the thread.”
“No matter! We will search until we find them, or else turn black ourselves in the trial. Have pity upon us, Prince!”
“Oh, father,” said my daughter, “do let the poor things come along with us.”
“Very well,” said I, whereupon we walked on, and the eight tailors gave a faint cheer and fell into line behind us.