Giroflee was on her knees before her, bandaging up
one arm from which the blood was flowing. They both seemed greatly
concerned about the wound: "Let me die," the Princess was saying,
"death would be better than the life which I lead. To be a Fawn all
the day, to hear him speaking, and not to be able to tell him of my
sad fate."
One can guess the astonishment of Becafigue and of the Prince.
Guerrier would almost have died of pleasure had he not thought that
it must be some enchantment, for did he not know that Desiree and her
Lady in Waiting were shut up in the castle.
He went softly and knocked at the chamber door, which Giroflee opened,
thinking it was the old woman, for she required help for the wounded
arm.
The Prince entered, threw himself at Desiree's feet, and found she was
indeed his Princess.
Great was their joy thus at last meeting, and while they were talking
to each other the night passed, and the day dawned, and daylight came,
and the morning sun shone brightly before Desiree had time to notice
that she had not again taken the shape of a Fawn, but was her own
beautiful self.
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