The old grandmother did nothing but sit by the fire and knit; so one or other of the girls was always out attending to the gates and receiving the tolls of the passersby. Zaire grumbled at the work, but Blanchelys did it cheerfully, and always said a pleasant word to each of the villagers as they came over the bridge.
One winter the old grandmother was feebler than ever, and on Christmas Eve she called the two girls to her bedside and said—
“My dear children, I feel that my end is now fast approaching, but before I die I have something to say to you both. I trust you will always be good girls, and then you are sure to be happy. I have little to leave you except my blessing, but there is something more I have for each of you. That is these two little candles; they are magic candles, and when you set them alight there will appear to you a fairy who will grant you the wish of your heart. If it is a good wish it will be a good fairy that appears, but if it is a wicked wish it will be a wicked fairy that comes; so I advise you to beware, for bad fairies help none. You must burn your candles alone on a night when there is neither moon nor star, and you can only have one wish, for when that is granted the candle will burn out; but if you will take my advice you will never light them at all. Many, many years ago they were brought over the sea, from a strange land where animals spoke and men and women flew, by a sailor who gave them to my grandmother, who gave them to my mother, who gave them to me. So I have had them all my life, but no one has ever used them, for we all thought that if people live honestly and do their duty, they are sure to be happy without the help of any fairy folk.”
So saying the good woman drew from under her pillow two tiny candles, and gave one to each of the two girls, who stood by her bedside. They took them in great surprise, and Blanchelys stooped down and kissed her, and as she did so the old woman died.
Blanchelys grieved and wept much, for she had loved her well, but Zaire was so busy thinking of her magic candle that she did not grieve for her grandmother’s death, but sat brooding over what great thing she should wish for when she lit it.
“I will keep it till I know of something I long for very much indeed,” she said to herself. So she put the candle safely away; and Blanchelys put hers away also, meaning to take her grandmother’s advice, and never to light it. So the two girls lived in the same little cottage, going out as before to open the gates for the passersby. On the other side of the river was a grand castle which belonged to the King. Long ago he used to stay there to hunt, but now he was grown too old, and the castle was never used. One day the girls heard that the King’s son was coming, and all the village was to be decorated in his honour. The first day he rode through it on his way to the hunt, Zaire and Blanchelys knew that he would cross the bridge; so they both dressed themselves in their very best to come out and open the gates; but Zaire said to Blanchelys, “You stand back, and let me go first, for, as people say I am the prettiest girl in the village, it is right I should be seen.” So Blanchelys stood behind and looked over her cousin’s shoulder.
She saw the party of riders coming across the bridge, and they were all splendidly dressed in coloured velvets and gold, and in the middle, riding on a snow-white horse, was the King’s son, clad in a suit of burnished gold, that sparkled and shone in the sunlight. His hair, which was darker and redder than his golden dress, hung over his shoulders and stood out around his head like fine wires. On his head was a velvet cap, from which hung a long white feather fastened down by a diamond clasp; and as he smiled and talked to those around him, Blanchelys thought she never had seen anyone so beautiful in her life. In front of the party rode trumpeters, blowing on their trumpets, to clear the way, and behind were servants and pages leading hounds and bearing hawks.
But none of the party noticed the two girls who stood at the cottage door, and the horses’ feet raised a cloud of dust, which flew into Zaire’s face, and she fell into a passion. “If that is all one gets, forsooth, for opening the gate for the King’s son,” she cried, “I will never do it again.” But Blanchelys stood at the door and watched the party of horsemen till they were quite out of sight, and then she sighed. “I would stand at the gate all day if he would only ride by once,” she said, and her cousin laughed at her scornfully. But when the royal party rode back, Blanchelys opened the gate, and stood and gazed at the King’s son as before, and when she returned into the cottage she wept silently, and when she slept at night she dreamed of the King’s son. Every day he came across the bridge on his snow-white horse as he rode to the hunt, and every day Blanchelys
