One evening, when the Prince came back from hunting, he came into the cottage with Blanchelys, and asked her if she would be his wife, and told her that when he was King she should be Queen.
Blanchelys wept for joy; and when she went to look at her flower she found that one of the buds had burst into a splendid white rose, which scented the whole room.
So Blanchelys married the King’s son, and there were great rejoicings at the wedding all over the country, and illuminations everywhere; and Blanchelys had fine ladies to wait on her, and beautiful jewels given to her, and fine dresses made for her; but what she valued more than all was her pot with the rose-tree in it, which grew more and more beautiful every day, for fresh roses bloomed.
But Zaire was bitterly jealous of Blanchelys, because she was going to be Queen, though Blanchelys was very kind to her and gave her beautiful things, and took her to live with her at the palace. Still Zaire hated her, and thought night and day of how she could do her any harm, and as she saw how happy Blanchelys was, and how much her husband loved her, she hated her all the more. So the time passed on. Blanchelys’ rose had grown into a big tree, and she had planted it in the palace garden, just beneath her bedroom window, so that it might be the first thing she saw when she woke in the morning. All her ladies knew that Princess Blanchelys’ favourite spot in the palace garden was close to the beautiful rose-tree, where she would sit for hours gazing up at its flowers and smelling them. She never allowed anyone to gather them, and she always watered it herself. Her first care in the morning was to examine her rose-tree, whilst she brushed from it all insects, and cut off the dead leaves. And sometimes, when no one was there to see, she would press her lips to the roses; but Zaire watched her secretly, and longed to know why Blanchelys loved the tree so much.
After a time, Blanchelys had a little son, who was heir to the crown, and she was even happier than before, and her husband loved her better. The bells were rung at the birth of the prince, and all the people rejoiced. And the rose-tree grew so fast, that when Blanchelys came out into the garden, with her baby in her arms, it was quite a big tree, and she was able to stand under the shade of its branches.
“You are a very happy woman, cousin Blanchelys,” said Zaire, coming up to her from behind, as she stood under the tree.
“Yes, indeed, I am happy,” said Blanchelys, looking at the baby in her arms. “And I hope, dear cousin Zaire, that you will be as happy as I am.”
“That is impossible,” said Zaire, “for one day you will be Queen, and I never shall.”
“I am not so happy because I am going to be Queen,” said Blanchelys, “but because I love my husband and baby so dearly.”
“And, next to them, what do you love best?” asked Zaire.
“Next to them, I love my rose-tree,” said Blanchelys; and she laughed, and wound her arms round the tree-trunk.
“Then if that tree were to die, would you be very unhappy, cousin Blanchelys?” asked Zaire, and her eyes glittered eagerly.
“Yes, if my tree were to die, I think it would break my heart,” said Blanchelys, and she turned quite pale at the thought.
But from that day Zaire thought of nothing but how she could kill the rose-tree that her cousin loved so much. First she pulled off its leaves, and cut its branches, but fresh leaves grew in the old ones’ places, and the maimed branches budded and sprouted anew. Then she took a sharp knife, and pierced it through the trunk, and peeled off the bark, so that it bled. But the gash soon healed up, and the bark grew again, so that the tree was finer than before. Zaire might do what she could, but the tree grew and grew, and she could not hurt it.
Soon after the baby prince was born the old King fell ill and died, so Blanchelys and her husband were to be crowned King and Queen. Again the country was illuminated for the coronation, and Blanchelys and her husband sat on two golden thrones while the crowns were placed on their heads, and the baby lay in a golden cradle at their feet.
Queen Blanchelys was dressed in white satin and gold, with some of her dear roses in her dress, and she smiled and wept for joy; and all the crowd cheered and shouted. But when Zaire saw Blanchelys seated on her golden throne, her hatred and envy knew no bounds, and she wept with rage; for she saw that Blanchelys was better and fairer than she, though she too wore a grand satin dress, and had jewels in her hair.
At night a great ball was given in the palace; but Zaire would not dance, and stood in a corner watching Blanchelys, her lips trembling with rage. At last she started up with a thought in her mind, and ran into the palace garden, in the dark night. In one hand she held tightly grasped the little wax candle her grandmother had given her long before. The night was dark and cold, there were neither moon nor stars, and a shrill wind whistled, and Zaire shivered and trembled in her yellow satin dress. The rain began to fall, but she lifted her skirts and picked her way among the
