“You have asked,” said she, “for the only thing from which I cannot part,” and then she bade her maids bring her her jewel-casket, and she drew out diamonds, and rubies, and pearls, and offered them, all or any, to Gervaise. The lightning shone on them and made them shine and flash, but he shook his head.
“No, none of these will do,” quoth he. “You can see her for the necklace, but for nothing else.”
“Take it off for yourself then,” cried Fiorimonde, who now was so angry that she only wished to be rid of Gervaise in any way.
“No, indeed,” said Gervaise, “I am no tire-woman, and should not know how to clasp and unclasp it;” and in spite of all Fiorimonde could say or do, he would not touch either her or the magic chain.
At night the storm grew even fiercer, but it did not trouble the Princess. She waited till all were asleep, and then she opened her bedroom window and chirruped softly to the little brown bird, who flew down from the roof at her call. Then she gave him a handful of seeds as before, and he grew and grew and grew till he was as large as an ostrich, and she sat upon his back and flew out through the air, laughing at the lightning and thunder which flashed and roared around her. Away they flew till they came to the old witch’s cave, and here they found the witch sitting at her open door catching the lightning to make charms with.
“Welcome, my dear,” croaked she, as Fiorimonde stepped from the bird; “here is a night we both love well. And how goes the necklace?—right merrily I see. Twelve beads already—but what is that twelfth?” and she looked at it closely.
“Nay, that is one thing I want you to tell me,” said Fiorimonde, drying the rain from her golden hair. “Last night when I slept there were eleven, and this morning there are twelve; and I know not from whence comes the twelfth.”
“It is no suitor,” said the witch, “but from some young maid, that that bead is made. But why should you mind? It looks well with the others.”
“Some young maid,” said the Princess. “Then, it must be Cicely or Marybel, or Yolande, who would have robbed me of my necklace as I slept. But what care I? The silly wench is punished now, and so may all others be, who would do the same.”
“And when will you get the thirteenth bead, and where will he come from?” asked the witch.
“He waits at the palace now,” said Fiorimonde, chuckling. “And this is why I have to speak to you;” and then she told the witch of the stranger who had come in the storm, and of how he would not touch her necklace, nor take the cord in his hand, and how he said also that he knew a woman fairer than she.
“Beware, Princess, beware,” cried the witch in a warning voice, as she listened. “Why should you heed tales of other women fairer than you? Have I not made you the most beautiful woman in the world, and can any others do more than I? Give no ear to what this stranger says or you shall rue it.” But still the Princess murmured, and said she did not love to hear anyone speak of others as beautiful as she.
“Be warned in time,” cried the witch, “or you will have cause to repent it. Are you so silly or so vain as to be troubled because a Prince says idly what you know is not true? I tell you do not listen to him, but let him be slung to your chain as soon as may be, and then he will speak no more.” And then they talked together of how Fiorimonde could make Gervaise grasp the fatal string.
Next morning when the sun rose, Gervaise started off into the woods, and there he plucked acorns and haws, and hips, and strung them on to a string to form a rude necklace. This he hid in his bosom, and then went back to the palace without telling anyone.
When the Princess rose, she dressed herself as beautifully as she could, and braided her golden locks with great care, for this morning she meant her new suitor to meet his fate. After breakfast, she stepped into the garden, where the sun shone brightly, and all looked fresh after the storm. Here from the grass she picked up a golden ball, and began to play with it.
“Go to our new guest,” cried she to her ladies, “and ask him to come here and play at ball with me.” So they went, and soon they returned bringing Gervaise with them.
“Good morrow, prince,” cried she. “Pray, come and try your skill at this game with me; and you,” she said to her ladies, “do not wait to watch our play, but each go your way, and do what pleases you best.” So they all went away, and left her alone with Gervaise.
“Well, prince,” cried she as they began to play, “what do you think of me by morning light? Yesterday when you came it was so dark, with thunder and clouds, that you could scarcely see my face, but now that there is bright sunshine, pray look well at me, and see if you do not think me as beautiful as any woman on earth,” and she smiled at Gervaise, and looked so lovely as she spoke, that he scarce knew how to answer her; but he remembered Yolande, and said,
“Doubtless you are very beautiful; then why should you mind my telling you that I have seen a woman lovelier than you?”
At this the Princess again began to be angry, but she thought of the witch’s words and
