So, after a minute's pause, the procession had moved on. Such a procession t Heralds in blue and silver; pages in crimson and gold; and a troop of little girls in dazzling white, carrying baskets of flowers, which they strewed all the way before the nurse and child--finally the four-and-twenty godfathers and godmothers, as proud as possible, and so splendid to look at that they would have quite extinguished their small godson--merely a heap of lace and muslin with a baby face inside--had it not been for a canopy of white satin and ostrich feathers which was held over him wherever he was carried.
Thus, with the sun shining on them through the painted windows, they stood; the king and his train on one side, the Prince and his attendants on the other, as pretty a sight as ever was seen out of fairyland.
"It's just like fairyland," whispered the eldest little girl to the next eldest, as she shook the last rose out of her basket; "and I think the only thing the Prince wants now is a fairy god-mother."
"Does he?" said a shrill but soft and not unpleasant voice behind; and there was seen among the group of children somebody,--not a child, yet no bigger than a child,--somebody whom nobody had seen before, and who certainly had not been invited, for she had no christening clothes on.
She was a little old woman dressed all in gray: gray gown; gray hooded cloak, of a material excessively fine, and a tint that seemed perpetually changing, like the gray of an evening sky. Her hair was gray, and her eyes also--even her complexion had a soft gray shadow over it. But there was nothing unpleasantly old about her, and her smile was as sweet and childlike as the Prince's own, which stole over his pale little face the instant she came near enough to touch him.
"Take care! Don't let the baby fall again."
The grand young lady nurse started, flushing angrily.
"Who spoke to me? How did anybody know?
--I mean, what business has anybody----"
Then frightened, but still speaking in a much sharper tone than I hope young ladies of rank are in the habit of speaking--"Old woman, you will be kind enough not to say `the baby,' but `the Prince.' Keep away; his Royal Highness is just going to sleep.""Nevertheless I must kiss him. I am his god-mother."
"You!" cried the elegant lady nurse.
"You!" repeated all the gentlemen and ladies-in-waiting.
"You!" echoed the heralds and pages--and they began to blow the silver trumpets in order to stop all further conversation.
The Prince's procession formed itself for returning,--the King and his train having already moved off toward the palace,--but on the top-most step of the marble stairs stood, right in front of all, the little old woman clothed in gray.
She stretched herself on tiptoe by the help of her stick, and gave the little Prince three kisses.
"This is intolerable!" cried the young lady nurse, wiping the kisses off rapidly with her lace handkerchief. "Such an insult to his Royal Highness! Take yourself out of the way, old woman, or the King shall be informed immediately.""The King knows nothing of me, more's the pity," replied the old woman, with an indifferent air, as if she thought the loss was more on his Majesty's side than hers. "My friend in the palace is the King's wife.""King's have not wives, but queens," said the lady nurse, with a contemptuous air.
"You are right," replied the old woman.
