Beauty and the Beast

Once upon a time, in a country far away, there lived a merchant who had done so well in all his ventures that he had become enormously rich. He had six sons and six daughters, and since he had more than enough money, he let them all have whatever they wanted, and this had always been their way of life.

But one day a terrible misfortune fell upon them. Their house caught fire and burned to the ground, and with it went all their splendid furniture, their books and pictures, their gold and silver, and every fine thing they owned. And this was only the beginning of their troubles. The merchant, who until then had prospered in everything, suddenly lost every ship he owned at sea—some to pirates, some to shipwreck, some to fire. Then word came that the clerks he had trusted completely, in distant lands, had cheated him. And so, from great wealth, he fell into the deepest poverty.

All that was left to him was a little house standing alone in the countryside, at least a hundred miles from the city where they had lived, and there he was forced to take his children, who despaired at the thought of such a different life. At first the daughters hoped that their friends, who had been so plentiful while the family was rich, would insist that they come and stay with them now that they had no home of their own. But they soon discovered that they were quite alone, and that their old friends even blamed the family's ruin on their own extravagance, and showed no wish to help them at all. So there was nothing to do but set off for the cottage, which stood deep in a dark forest and seemed the most miserable place on earth.

Since they were too poor now to keep servants, the daughters had to work hard, like peasants, and the sons went out to till the fields to earn their bread. Dressed plainly and living simply, the girls never stopped mourning the comforts and amusements of their old life—all except the youngest, who tried to stay brave and cheerful. She had grieved as much as anyone when her father's fortune was lost, but she soon found her natural good spirits again, and set herself to cheering her father and brothers however she could, and to coaxing her sisters into singing and dancing with her. But they would have none of it, and because she was not as gloomy as they were, they said this hard life was all she was fit for. Yet she was really far prettier and cleverer than either of them, so lovely, in fact, that everyone simply called her Beauty.

After two years, when they had all more or less grown used to their new life, something happened to disturb their quiet again. Their father learned that one of his ships, which he had believed lost, had come safely into port with a rich cargo. At once all his sons and daughters were sure their poverty was over, and wanted to set off for the city that very day. But their father, being more cautious, asked them to wait a little while, and though it was harvest time and he could ill be spared from the fields, he decided to go alone first, to see how matters truly stood. Only the youngest daughter had any doubt that they would soon be as rich as before, or at least well enough off to live comfortably in some town, with amusements and lively company once more. So they all loaded him with orders for jewels and gowns that would have cost a fortune to buy—all except Beauty, who, feeling certain it would come to nothing, asked for nothing at all. Her father, noticing her silence, said, "And what shall I bring you, Beauty?"

"The only thing I want," she answered, "is to see you come home safely."

This only annoyed her sisters, who thought she meant to shame them for asking for such costly things. Her father was pleased, but since he thought a girl her age surely ought to want some pretty thing, he told her to choose something after all.

"Well, dear father," she said, "since you insist, then bring me a rose. I haven't seen one since we came here, and I do love them so."

So the merchant set out, and reached the city as quickly as he could, only to find that his old partners, believing him dead, had already divided among themselves the goods his ship had brought home. After six months of trouble and expense, he found himself just as poor as when he started, having managed to recover only enough to cover the cost of his journey. To make matters worse, he had to leave the city in dreadful weather, so that by the time he was within a few miles of home he was nearly worn out with cold and exhaustion. He knew it would take some hours to cross the forest, but he was so eager to reach his journey's end that he pressed on anyway. Night overtook him, and the deep snow and bitter frost made it impossible for his horse to go any farther. Not a house was in sight; the only shelter he could find was the hollow trunk of an old tree, and there he huddled through what seemed the longest night of his life. Weary as he was, the howling of wolves kept him awake, and even when day finally broke, he was little better off, for the fallen snow had covered every path, and he no longer knew which way to turn.

At last he made out something like a trail, and though at first it was so rough and slippery that he fell more than once, it soon grew easier, and led him down an avenue of trees that ended at a magnificent castle. It struck him as very strange that no snow had fallen along this avenue, which was lined entirely with orange trees, heavy with blossoms and fruit. When he reached the first courtyard of the castle, he saw before him a flight of steps made of agate, and he climbed them and passed through room after room of splendid furnishings. The warm air revived him, and he grew very hungry, but there seemed to be no one in the whole vast palace whom he could ask for food. A deep silence lay over everything, and at last, tired of wandering through empty rooms and galleries, he stopped in a smaller chamber, where a bright fire was burning and a couch stood drawn close to it. Thinking it must be meant for someone soon to arrive, he sat down to wait, and before long fell into a sweet sleep.

When his great hunger woke him some hours later, he was still quite alone, but a small table had been drawn up beside him, laid with a fine dinner. As he had eaten nothing in a full day, he lost no time in beginning his meal, hoping soon to have the chance to thank whoever had shown him such kindness. But no one appeared, and even after another long sleep, from which he woke thoroughly refreshed, there was still no sign of anyone, though a fresh spread of delicate cakes and fruit had been laid out on the little table at his elbow. Being naturally timid, he began to find the silence frightening, and resolved to search the palace once more from end to end. But it was no use. Not even a single servant could be found; there was no sign of life anywhere in the place. He began to wonder what to do, and amused himself by imagining that all these treasures were his own, and thinking how he would divide them among his children. Then he went down into the garden, and though winter held the rest of the world in its grip, here the sun shone, birds sang, flowers bloomed, and the air was warm and sweet. Overjoyed at all he saw and heard, the merchant said to himself:

"All this must be meant for me. I will go this minute and bring my children here to share such delights."

Cold and weary as he had been on arriving, he had still taken his horse to the stable and fed it, and now he thought he would saddle it for the ride home. He turned down the path leading to the stable, a path bordered on both sides by a hedge of roses, and thought he had never seen or smelled such beautiful flowers. They reminded him of his promise to Beauty, and he stopped and had just picked one to bring to her, when a strange sound behind him made him start. He turned and saw a fearsome Beast, plainly furious, who said in a terrible voice:

"Who told you that you might pick my roses? Was it not enough that I let you into my palace and treated you kindly? Is this how you repay me—by stealing my flowers? Your insolence will not go unpunished."

The merchant, terrified by these fierce words, dropped the fatal rose and threw himself on his knees. "Forgive me, noble sir," he cried. "I am truly grateful for your hospitality, which was so generous that I never imagined you would be offended by so small a thing as a rose." But this did nothing to calm the Beast's anger.

"You're quick with excuses and flattery," he growled, "but that won't save you from the death you've earned."

"Alas," thought the merchant, "if only my daughter knew what danger her rose has brought upon me!" And in despair he began to tell the Beast his whole misfortune, and the reason for his journey, not forgetting to mention Beauty's request.

"A king's ransom would hardly have satisfied what my other daughters asked for," he said, "but I thought I might at least bring Beauty her rose. I beg you to forgive me—I meant no harm at all."

The Beast considered for a moment, then spoke in a somewhat less furious tone.

"I will forgive you on one condition: that you give me one of your daughters."

"Ah," cried the merchant, "if I were cruel enough to buy my own life at the cost of one of my children's, what excuse could I possibly give her to bring her here?"

"No excuse is needed," answered the Beast. "If she comes at all, she must come willingly. I will accept her on no other terms. Go and see whether any one of your daughters is brave enough, and loves you well enough, to come and save your life. You seem an honest man, so I will trust you to go home. I give you a month to learn whether either of your daughters is willing to come back with you and remain here, so that you may go free. If neither is willing, then you must return alone, after bidding your family farewell forever, for then you will belong to me. And do not think you can hide from me—if you fail to keep your word, I will come and find you."

The merchant agreed to this bargain, though he did not truly believe any of his daughters would consent to such a thing. He promised to return at the appointed time, and, eager to escape the Beast's presence, asked leave to depart at once. But the Beast told him he could not leave until the next day.

"You will find a horse ready for you then," he said. "Now go and eat your supper, and wait for further word from me."

The poor merchant, more dead than alive, went back to his room, where the most delicious supper was already laid on the little table before a blazing fire. But he was too frightened to eat much, tasting only a few dishes for fear the Beast would be angry if he refused the food. When he had finished, he heard a great noise in the next room, which told him the Beast was coming. Since there was nothing to be done to avoid the visit, he resolved to seem as unafraid as he could, and when the Beast appeared and gruffly asked whether he had supped well, the merchant answered humbly that he had, thanks to his host's kindness. Then the Beast reminded him of their agreement, and told him to prepare his daughter carefully for what awaited her.

"Do not rise tomorrow," he added, "until you see the sun and hear a golden bell ring. Then your breakfast will be waiting here, and the horse that is to carry you will be ready in the courtyard. He will also bring you back a month from now, when you return with your daughter. Farewell. Take Beauty her rose, and remember your promise."

The merchant was glad enough when the Beast finally withdrew, and though sorrow kept him from sleep, he lay quietly until sunrise. After a hurried breakfast, he went to gather Beauty's rose and mounted his horse, which carried him away so swiftly that in an instant the palace had vanished from sight, and he was still lost in gloomy thoughts when the horse stopped before the door of the cottage.

His sons and daughters, who had been anxious over his long absence, rushed out to meet him, eager to hear how his journey had gone. Seeing him mounted on a splendid horse and wrapped in a fine cloak, they supposed his news must be good. At first he hid the truth from them, saying only to Beauty, as he handed her the rose, "Here is what you asked for; you have no idea what it has cost me."

This only sharpened their curiosity, and soon he told them the whole story from beginning to end, and they were all plunged into unhappiness. The girls wept loudly over their lost hopes, and the sons declared that their father should never go back to that dreadful castle, and began planning how they might kill the Beast should it come for him. But he reminded them that he had given his word. Then the sisters turned on Beauty, blaming her, saying that if only she had asked for something sensible none of this would have happened, and complaining bitterly that they should have to suffer for her foolishness.

Poor Beauty, deeply troubled, said to them, "It's true, I have brought this misfortune upon us, but believe me, I did it without meaning any harm. Who could have guessed that asking for a rose in the middle of summer would cause such trouble? But since I caused the harm, it is only right that I should bear it. I will go back with father and keep his promise."

At first no one would hear of such a plan, and her father and brothers, who loved her dearly, swore that nothing would make them let her go. But Beauty stood firm. As the day drew near, she gave away all her small belongings among her sisters, and said goodbye to everything she loved, and when the appointed day arrived, she comforted and encouraged her father as they mounted together the horse that had carried him home. The horse seemed to fly rather than gallop, but so smoothly that Beauty was not afraid; indeed she might have enjoyed the ride, had she not dreaded what awaited her at its end. Her father tried again and again to persuade her to turn back, but she would not. As they talked, night fell, and then, to their astonishment, brilliant colored lights began to shine all around them, and splendid fireworks blazed overhead, lighting the whole forest and warming the air, though it had been bitterly cold only moments before. This continued until they reached the avenue of orange trees, where statues stood holding blazing torches, and as they drew nearer the palace they saw it lit from roof to foundation, with soft music drifting from the courtyard. "The Beast must be very hungry," Beauty said, trying to laugh, "if he makes such a celebration over the arrival of his prey." Yet in spite of her fear, she could not help admiring all the wonders around her.

The horse stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the terrace, and once they had dismounted, her father led her to the small room he remembered, where a splendid fire burned and the table was daintily set with a delicious supper. The merchant understood this was meant for them, and Beauty, somewhat calmer now that she had passed through so many rooms without seeing the Beast, was glad enough to eat, since her long ride had left her very hungry. But they had scarcely finished when the sound of the Beast's footsteps came near, and Beauty clung to her father in terror, made worse by seeing how frightened he was himself. Yet when the Beast at last appeared, though she trembled at the sight of him, she made a great effort to hide her fear, and greeted him respectfully.

This clearly pleased him. After studying her a moment, he said, in a voice that might have chilled the boldest heart, though he did not seem angry, "Good evening, old man. Good evening, Beauty."

The merchant was too frightened to answer, but Beauty replied sweetly, "Good evening, Beast."

"Have you come here of your own will?" the Beast asked. "Will you be content to remain when your father leaves?"

Beauty answered bravely that she was quite ready to stay.

"I am pleased with you," said the Beast. "Since you came willingly, you may remain. As for you, old man," he went on, turning to the merchant, "at sunrise tomorrow you will set off for home. When the bell rings, rise at once and eat your breakfast; the same horse will be waiting to carry you back. But understand that you must never expect to see my palace again."

Then, turning to Beauty, he said, "Take your father to the next room, and help him choose whatever you think your brothers and sisters would like to have. You'll find two traveling trunks there—fill them as full as you please. It's only right that you should send them something precious to remember you by."

Then he departed, saying only, "Good night, Beauty; good night, old man." Though Beauty was beginning to dread her father's leaving, she did not dare disobey the Beast, and they went into the next room, lined all around with shelves and cupboards. They were amazed at the riches it held. There were splendid gowns fit for a queen, along with every ornament to match, and when Beauty opened the cupboards she was dazzled by the jewels piled high on every shelf. After choosing a great quantity, dividing it into a heap for each of her sisters, she opened the last chest, which was filled with gold.

"I think, father," she said, "since gold will do you more good, we had better take out the rest and fill the trunks with it instead." So they did, but the more gold they packed in, the more room there seemed to be, until at last they put back all the gowns and jewels they had removed, and Beauty even added as many more jewels as she could carry at once, and still the trunks were not too full—though they were so heavy that not even an elephant could have lifted them.

"The Beast has made fools of us," the merchant cried. "He must have pretended to give us all this, knowing full well I could never carry it away."

"Let's wait and see," Beauty answered. "I can't believe he meant to trick us. All we can do is fasten the trunks shut and leave them ready."

So they did, and returned to the small room, where, to their surprise, breakfast was already waiting. The merchant ate heartily, since the Beast's generosity gave him hope that he might soon dare to return and see Beauty again. But she felt certain her father was leaving her forever, and grew very sad when the bell rang out a second time, warning them the moment of parting had come. They went down to the courtyard, where two horses stood waiting, one loaded with the trunks, the other saddled for him to ride. Both pawed the ground, impatient to be off, and the merchant had only time for a hurried farewell before he was mounted and gone from sight in an instant.

Then Beauty wept, and wandered sadly back to her room. But she soon grew very sleepy, and having nothing better to do, she lay down and fell instantly asleep. And in her sleep she dreamed she was walking beside a stream lined with trees, grieving over her sad fate, when a young prince, more handsome than anyone she had ever seen, with a voice that went straight to her heart, came and said to her, "Ah, Beauty, you are not so unfortunate as you think. Here you will be rewarded for all you have suffered elsewhere. Every wish of yours will be granted. Only try to find me, no matter what disguise I may wear, for I love you dearly, and in making me happy you will find your own happiness too. Be as true of heart as you are lovely, and we shall have nothing left to wish for."

"What can I do, my prince, to make you happy?" Beauty asked.

"Only be true," he answered, "and do not put too much trust in your eyes. And above all, do not abandon me until you have freed me from my cruel suffering."

After this she thought she found herself in a room with a stately and beautiful lady, who said to her, "Dear Beauty, do not grieve for what you have left behind, for a better fate awaits you. Only do not let yourself be fooled by appearances."

Beauty found her dreams so absorbing that she was in no hurry to wake, but at last the clock roused her, calling her name softly twelve times, and she rose to find her dressing table laid out with everything she could want. Once she was dressed, she found dinner waiting in the next room. But dinner does not take long when eaten alone, and soon she settled into the corner of a sofa, thinking of the charming prince from her dream.

"He said I could make him happy," Beauty said to herself. "It seems, then, that this dreadful Beast keeps him prisoner. How can I set him free? I wonder why they both warned me not to trust appearances. I don't understand it at all. But after all, it was only a dream—why should it trouble me? I had better go find something to occupy myself."

So she rose and began exploring the many rooms of the palace.

The first she entered was lined entirely with mirrors, and Beauty saw herself reflected on every side, and thought she had never seen so charming a room. Then a bracelet hanging from a chandelier caught her eye, and taking it down, she was astonished to find it held a small portrait of the very admirer from her dream. Delighted, she slipped it onto her wrist and went on into a gallery of paintings, where she soon found a portrait of the same handsome prince, life-sized and so finely painted that as she studied it, he seemed to smile kindly back at her. Tearing herself away at last, she came into a room filled with every musical instrument imaginable, and amused herself there a long while, trying first one and then another, and singing until she grew tired. The next room was a library, holding every book she had ever wished to read, as well as every one she had already read, and it seemed to her that a whole lifetime would not suffice even to read the titles, there were so many. By now dusk was falling, and candles set in candlesticks of diamond and ruby were beginning to light themselves throughout the palace.

Beauty found her supper waiting exactly when she liked to eat, though she saw no one and heard not a sound; and though her father had warned her she would be alone, she began to find it rather dull. But before long she heard the Beast approaching, and wondered anxiously whether he meant now to devour her. Yet he seemed no more fierce than before, saying only gruffly, "Good evening, Beauty," and she answered cheerfully, hiding her fear as best she could. Then the Beast asked how she had spent her day, and she told him of all the rooms she had explored.

Then he asked whether she thought she could be happy in his palace, and Beauty said that everything was so beautiful she would be very hard to please indeed if she could not be happy there. After nearly an hour's conversation, Beauty began to think the Beast was not nearly so terrible as she had first believed. Then he rose to leave, and asked in his rough voice, "Do you love me, Beauty? Will you marry me?"

"Oh, what shall I say?" cried Beauty, afraid to anger him with a refusal.

"Say yes or no without fear," he replied.

"Oh, no, Beast," she said quickly.

"Since you will not, then good night, Beauty," he said.

And she answered, "Good night, Beast," glad that her refusal had not offended him. Soon after he left, she went to bed and fell asleep, dreaming once more of her unknown prince. She thought he came to her and said, "Ah, Beauty, why are you so unkind to me? I fear I am fated to suffer many days yet." And then her dreams changed, but the charming prince appeared in every one of them; and when morning came, her first thought was to look at the portrait, to see if it was truly like him, and she found that it was.

That morning she chose to walk in the garden, for the sun shone and all the fountains played, but she was astonished to find every corner of it already familiar, and soon she came upon the very stream, bordered with myrtle trees, where she had first met the prince in her dream, and this made her more certain than ever that the Beast held him captive somewhere. When she grew tired, she returned to the palace and found a new room filled with materials for every kind of needlework—ribbons for bows, silks to shape into flowers. Then there was an aviary of rare birds, so tame they flew straight to Beauty and perched on her shoulders and her head.

"Pretty little creatures," she said, "how I wish your cage were nearer my own room, so I might hear you sing often." And on saying this, she opened a door and found, to her delight, that it led directly into her own chamber, though she had believed it lay quite on the other side of the palace.

Farther on, in another room, were more birds—parrots and cockatoos that could talk, and they greeted Beauty by name; she found them so entertaining that she brought one or two back with her, and they chattered to her all through supper, after which the Beast paid his usual visit, asked her the same questions as before, and departed with his usual gruff "good night," leaving Beauty to dream once more of her mysterious prince. The days passed swiftly in one amusement after another, and before long Beauty discovered yet another strange thing in the palace, which pleased her whenever she felt lonely. There was one room she had not noticed particularly before; it was empty except for a comfortable chair set beneath each window, and the first time she had looked out, a black curtain had seemed to block all view of outside. But the second time she visited, feeling tired, she sat down in one of the chairs, and at once the curtain rolled aside, revealing a delightful little play unfolding before her—dances, colored lights, music, fine costumes—so gay that Beauty was enchanted. After that she tried each of the seven windows in turn, and each showed her some new and marvelous entertainment, so that she never felt lonely again. Every evening after supper the Beast paid his visit, and always, before saying good night, asked in his terrible voice, "Beauty, will you marry me?" And it seemed to Beauty, now that she understood him better, that whenever she said, "No, Beast," he went away deeply sad. But her happy dreams of the handsome young prince soon pushed the poor Beast from her mind, and the only thing that troubled her at all was the constant warning to trust her heart and not her eyes, and not to be deceived by appearances—words she turned over again and again without ever understanding them.

So things went on for a long while, until at last, happy as she was, Beauty began to long for the sight of her father and her brothers and sisters. One evening, seeing her look very sad, the Beast asked what troubled her. Beauty had long since stopped being afraid of him, for she knew now that he was truly gentle beneath his fearsome looks and dreadful voice, and so she told him honestly that she longed to see her home again. Hearing this, the Beast seemed deeply distressed, and cried out miserably, "Ah, Beauty, have you the heart to abandon a poor, unhappy Beast like this? What more could you want to be happy? Is it that you hate me, and wish only to escape?"

"No, dear Beast," Beauty answered gently, "I do not hate you, and I would be very sorry never to see you again. But I long to see my father once more. Only let me go for two months, and I promise to come back and stay with you for the rest of my life."

The Beast, who had been sighing sorrowfully as she spoke, now answered, "I cannot refuse you anything you ask, even if it should cost me my life. Take the four chests you will find in the room next to yours, and fill them with everything you wish to bring. But remember your promise, and return when the two months are over, or you may come to regret it, for if you delay, you will find your faithful Beast dead. You will need no carriage to bring you back. Only say farewell to your brothers and sisters the night before you leave, and once you are in bed, turn this ring upon your finger and say firmly: 'I wish to go back to my palace and see my Beast again.' Good night, Beauty. Fear nothing—sleep in peace, and before long you shall see your father once more."

As soon as she was alone, Beauty hurried to fill the chests with every rare and precious thing she saw around her, and only when she had grown tired of piling things in did they seem full at last. Then she went to bed, though she could scarcely sleep for joy. And when at last she did dream of her beloved prince, she was grieved to find him stretched upon a grassy bank, weary and sorrowful, hardly like himself at all.

"What is wrong?" she cried.

He looked at her reproachfully. "How can you ask, cruel one? Are you not leaving me now, perhaps to my death?"

"Ah, don't be so sorrowful," cried Beauty. "I am only going to reassure my father that I am safe and happy. I have given the Beast my solemn word that I will return, and he would die of grief if I broke it."

"What would that matter to you?" said the prince. "Surely you would not care."

"Indeed I would be ungrateful if I did not care for so kind a creature," cried Beauty indignantly. "I would give my life to spare him pain. It is no fault of his that he is so ugly."

Just then a strange sound woke her—someone speaking nearby—and opening her eyes, she found herself in a room she had never seen before, far less splendid than those she knew in the Beast's palace. Where could she be? She dressed quickly, and then saw that the chests she had packed the night before stood in the room with her. While she wondered by what magic the Beast had brought her and all her belongings to this strange place, she suddenly heard her father's voice, and ran out to greet him joyfully. Her brothers and sisters were astonished to see her, having never expected to lay eyes on her again, and there was no end to their questions. She, too, had much to hear about all that had happened while she was away, and of her father's journey home. But when they learned she had come only for a short stay, and must then return to the Beast's palace forever, they wept loudly. Then Beauty asked her father what he thought her strange dreams might mean, and why the prince kept begging her not to trust appearances. After thinking it over, he said, "You tell me yourself that the Beast, frightful as he looks, loves you dearly, and deserves your love and gratitude for his gentleness and kindness. I believe the prince means that you ought to reward him by doing as he asks, in spite of his ugliness."

Beauty could not deny that this seemed likely enough, and yet, when she thought of her dear handsome prince, she felt no wish at all to marry the Beast. In any case, she had two months before she need decide, and could enjoy herself with her sisters in the meantime. But though the family was rich again now, and living once more in the city, with plenty of company, Beauty found that nothing amused her very much, and she often thought of the palace, where she had been so happy—especially since at home she never once dreamed of her dear prince, and felt quite lost without him.

Her sisters, meanwhile, seemed to have grown quite used to being without her, and even found her somewhat in the way, so that she would not have minded much when the two months came to an end, had it not been for her father and brothers, who begged her to stay, and grieved so at the thought of her leaving that she could not bring herself to say goodbye. Every morning she meant to say it that night, and every night she put it off again, until at last a dreadful dream helped her make up her mind. She dreamed she was wandering along a lonely path in the palace gardens when she heard groans coming from behind some bushes that hid the mouth of a cave, and hurrying to see what was wrong, she found the Beast lying on his side, seemingly dying. Faintly he reproached her for being the cause of his suffering, and at that moment a stately lady appeared and said gravely, "Ah, Beauty, you are only just in time to save his life. See what comes of breaking one's promises! Had you delayed a single day more, you would have found him dead."

Beauty was so frightened by this dream that the next morning she announced she must return at once, and that very night she said her farewells to her father and all her brothers and sisters. As soon as she was in bed, she turned the ring upon her finger and said firmly, "I wish to go back to my palace and see my Beast again," just as she had been told.

Then she fell asleep at once, and woke only when the clock called her name softly, "Beauty, Beauty," twelve times, telling her she was truly back in the palace. Everything was just as before, and her birds were overjoyed to see her again. But Beauty thought she had never known so long a day, so eager was she to see the Beast once more, feeling as though suppertime would never arrive.

But when it came, and the Beast did not appear, she grew truly frightened, and after waiting and listening a long while, ran down into the garden to search for him. Up and down the paths and avenues poor Beauty ran, calling his name, but no one answered, and she could find no trace of him at all, until at last, quite worn out, she stopped to rest for a moment and found herself standing before the shaded path she had seen in her dream. She hurried down it, and there, sure enough, was the cave, and inside lay the Beast, asleep, as Beauty first thought. Glad to have found him at last, she ran to stroke his head, but to her horror he did not stir, nor open his eyes.

"Oh, he is dead—and it is all my fault," Beauty cried, weeping bitterly.

But looking again, she thought she saw him still breathing, and hurrying to fetch water from the nearest fountain, she sprinkled it over his face, and to her great joy, he began to stir.

"Oh, Beast, how you frightened me!" she cried. "I never knew how much I loved you until this moment, when I feared I might be too late to save you."

"Can you truly love so ugly a creature as I am?" the Beast said faintly. "Ah, Beauty, you came only just in time. I was dying, believing you had forgotten your promise. But go now and rest—I shall see you again before long."

Beauty, who had half expected he would be angry with her, was reassured by his gentle voice, and returned to the palace, where supper awaited her. Afterward the Beast came in as usual, and spoke with her about the time she had spent with her father, asking whether she had enjoyed herself, and whether her family had been glad to see her. Beauty answered warmly, and found herself glad to tell him everything that had happened. And when at last the time came for him to leave, he asked, as he had so many times before, "Beauty, will you marry me?"

And this time she answered softly, "Yes, dear Beast."

At that very moment, a blaze of light burst up before the palace windows; fireworks crackled and cannon boomed, and across the avenue of orange trees, spelled out in letters made of fireflies, appeared the words: Long live the Prince and his Bride.

Turning to ask the Beast what all this could mean, Beauty found that he had vanished, and in his place stood her long-loved prince. At the same moment, the sound of wheels came from the terrace, and two ladies entered the room. One of them Beauty recognized at once as the stately lady from her dreams; the other was so grand and queenly that Beauty scarcely knew which to greet first.

But the lady she already knew turned to her companion and said, "Well, Queen, here is Beauty, who has had the courage to save your son from his terrible enchantment. They love one another, and only your consent is needed to make their happiness complete."

"I give it with all my heart," cried the Queen. "How can I ever thank you enough, dear girl, for restoring my beloved son to his true form?" And she tenderly embraced both Beauty and the prince, who in turn greeted the Fairy and thanked her for all she had done.

"Now," said the Fairy to Beauty, "I imagine you would like me to send for all your brothers and sisters, to dance at your wedding?"

And so she did, and the marriage was celebrated the very next day, with the greatest splendor, and Beauty and her prince lived happily ever after.