itself, for even in the queen’s clothes the gipsy remained a gipsy.
The young king waged a successful war against his enemies and made peace. Scarcely had he got home when he hurried to the garden to see whether anything had happened to his heart’s delight. Who can express in words his astonishment and horror when instead of his beautiful wife he saw the evil gipsy!
“Ah, my dearest one, how you have changed!” he murmured and tears flowed down his cheeks.
“Yes, my dear, I have changed, I know I have,” the gipsy answered. “It was grief for you that has broken me.”
She tried to fall on his neck but the king turned quickly away and left her.
From that time forth he had no peace but day and night he mourned the lost beauty of his wife and nothing consoled him.
Grieving in this way and thinking always the same sad thoughts, he was walking one day in the garden when suddenly a beautiful white dove flew down from a high tree and alighted on his hand. She looked up at him with eyes as mournful as his own.
“Ah, my poor dove,” the king said, “why are you so sad? Has your mate also changed?”
