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 crowded round him to listen, and to stare at the glass slipper, which a little blackamoor carried on a velvet cushion.

When he had finished reading, he had hardly time to fold up the parchment and put it in his pocket before there were about a hundred women clamouring to try the slipper on.

“Here’s a chance that comes only once in a lifetime,” said a stout old lady, plumping herself down in the chair which an attendant had set ready. “One does not get the opportunity of marrying a King’s son every day!” And she waggled her fat foot and tried to work her toes into the dainty shoe which was at least six sizes too small.

Then they all came, one after the other, citizens’ and shopkeepers’ daughters, and tried their utmost to get the slipper to go on. Many of them had very small, pretty feet, too, but for some mysterious reason the slipper always seemed a little smaller than the very daintiest foot. The truth is, of course, that it was a magic slipper, and could by no means be made to fit anybody except its rightful owner.

So it was all in vain; and at last the courier, his trumpeters, and his blackamoor left the town and set off to try their fortune in the country houses.

By this time Cinderella’s stepsisters had heard the news and were almost beside themselves with excitement.

“Do you hear, Euphronia?” cried Charlotte, “the Prince has announced that he will marry the lady whom the slipper fits. I’m perfectly certain that it is just my