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282 The worship that was paid to her delighted the Queen. Not a day passed that the Princess did not receive seven or eight thousand sonnets, as many odes, madrigals, and songs, which were sent by all the poets in the universe. Toutebelle was the sole theme of all the prose and verse written by the authors of her time. All the bonfires were made with these compositions, which sparkled and burned better than any other sort of fuel. The Princess had already reached the age of fifteen. Nobody ventured to pretend to the honour of being her husband, though everybody desired it: but how was it possible to touch a heart of that description?—you might have hanged yourself five or six times a-day to please her, and she would have thought it a mere trifle. Her lovers complained bitterly of her cruelty, and her mother, who wished her to be married, saw no means of inducing her to decide in favour of one of them. "Will you not," said she sometimes to her, "abate a little of that insupportable pride which causes you to look with disdain upon all the kings who visit our court? I wish to give you one for a husband:—have you no desire to please me?" "I am so happy," replied Toutebelle. "Pray, permit me, Madam, to enjoy my peaceful indifference. If I were once to lose it, you might be very sorry." "Yes," said the Queen, "I should be sorry if you loved any one beneath you; but look at those who sigh for you, and admit that there are none to be found more worthy."

It was quite true, but the Princess had such an opinion of her own perfections that she considered herself worth some one better still; and after some time, her obstinate determination to remain single so distressed her mother, that she repented, but too late, her extreme indulgence. Not knowing what she ought to do, she went by herself to consult a celebrated Fairy called the Fairy of the Desert: but it was not easy to see her, for she was guarded by lions. The Queen would have had little chance if she had not been for a long time aware that it was necessary to throw to these beasts some cake made of millet-seed, sugar-candy, and crocodiles' eggs. She had made one of these cakes herself, and put it into a little hand-basket. As she was tired with walking so far, not being accustomed to it, she laid down at the foot of a tree to take a little rest. Insensibly she fell asleep, but on re-awaking she found her basket empty. The cake was gone! and to