Then he stands up on end, puts his two fore-paws on the latch and the door opens.
Not a soul in the house.
The old woman had risen early to sell herbs in the town, and she had gone off in such haste that she had left her bed unmade, with her great night-cap on the pillow.
"Good!" said the Wolf to himself, "I know what I"ll do."
He shuts the door, pulls on the Grandmother"s night-cap down to his eyes, then he lies down all his length in the bed and draws the curtains.
In the meantime the good Blanchette went quietly on her way, as little girls do, amusing herself here and there by picking Easter daisies, watching the little birds making their nests, and running after the b.u.t.terflies which fluttered in the sunshine.
At last she arrives at the door.
Knock, knock.
"Who is there?" says the Wolf, softening his rough voice as best he can.
"It"s me, Granny, your little Golden-hood. I"m bringing you a big piece of cake for your Sunday treat to-morrow."
"Press your finger on the latch, then push and the door opens."
"Why, you"ve got a cold, Granny," said she, coming in.
"Ahem! a little, a little..." replies the Wolf, pretending to cough.
"Shut the door well, my little lamb. Put your basket on the table, and then take off your frock and come and lie down by me: you shall rest a little."
The good child undresses, but observe this! She kept her little hood upon her head. When she saw what a figure her Granny cut in bed, the poor little thing was much surprised.
"Oh!" cries she, "how like you are to friend Wolf, Grandmother!"
"That"s on account of my night-cap, child," replies the Wolf.
"Oh! what hairy arms you"ve got, Grandmother!"
"All the better to hug you, my child."
"Oh! what a big tongue you"ve got, Grandmother!"
"All the better for answering, child."
"Oh! what a mouthful of great white teeth you have, Grandmother!"
"That"s for crunching little children with! "And the Wolf opened his jaws wide to swallow Blanchette.
But she put down her head crying:
"Mamma! Mamma!" and the Wolf only caught her little hood.
Thereupon, oh dear! oh dear! he draws back, crying and shaking his jaw as if he had swallowed red-hot coals.
It was the little fire-coloured hood that had burnt his tongue right down his throat.
The little hood, you see, was one of those magic caps that they used to have in former times, in the stories, for making oneself invisible or invulnerable.
So there was the Wolf with his throat burnt, jumping off the bed and trying to find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs in the country were at his heels.
Just at this moment the Grandmother arrives, returning from the town with her long sack empty on her shoulder.
"Ah, brigand!" she cries, "wait a bit!" Quickly she opens her sack wide across the door, and the maddened Wolf springs in head downwards.
It is he now that is caught, swallowed like a letter in the post.
For the brave old dame shuts her sack, so; and she runs and empties it in the well, where the vagabond, still howling, tumbles in and is drowned.
"Ah, scoundrel! you thought you would crunch my little grandchild! Well, to-morrow we will make her a m.u.f.f of your skin, and you yourself shall be crunched, for we will give your carca.s.s to the dogs."
Thereupon the Grandmother hastened to dress poor Blanchette, who was still trembling with fear in the bed.
"Well," she said to her, "without my little hood where would you be now, darling?" And, to restore heart and legs to the child, she made her eat a good piece of her cake, and drink a good draught of wine, after which she took her by the hand and led her back to the house.
And then, who was it who scolded her when she knew all that had happened?
It was the mother.
But Blanchette promised over and over again that she would never more stop to listen to a Wolf, so that at last the mother forgave her.
And Blanchette, the Little Golden-hood, kept her word. And in fine weather she may still be seen in the fields with her pretty little hood, the colour of the sun.
But to see her you must rise early.(17)
(17) Ch. Marelles
THE GOLDEN BRANCH
ONCE upon a time there was a King who was so morose and disagreeable that he was feared by all his subjects, and with good reason, as for the most trifling offences he would have their heads cut off. This King Grumpy, as he was called, had one son, who was as different from his father as he could possibly be. No prince equalled him in cleverness and kindness of heart, but unfortunately he was most terribly ugly. He had crooked legs and squinting eyes, a large mouth all on one side, and a hunchback. Never was there a beautiful soul in such a frightful little body, but in spite of his appearance everybody loved him. The Queen, his mother, called him Curlicue, because it was a name she rather liked, and it seemed to suit him.
King Grumpy, who cared a great deal more for his own grandeur than for his son"s happiness, wished to betroth the Prince to the daughter of a neighbouring King, whose great estates joined his own, for he thought that this alliance would make him more powerful than ever, and as for the Princess she would do very well for Prince Curlicue, for she was as ugly as himself. Indeed, though she was the most amiable creature in the world, there was no concealing the fact that she was frightful, and so lame that she always went about with a crutch, and people called her Princess Cabbage-Stalk.
The King, having asked for and received a portrait of this Princess, had it placed in his great hall under a canopy, and sent for Prince Curlicue, to whom he said that as this was the portrait of his future bride, he hoped the Prince found it charming.
The Prince after one glance at it turned away with a disdainful air, which greatly offended his father.
"Am I to understand that you are not pleased?" he said very sharply.
"No, sire," replied the Prince. "How could I be pleased to marry an ugly, lame Princess?"