"What are you doing, good old woman?" said the princess.
"I'm spinning, my pretty child."
"Ah, how charming! Let me try if I can spin also."
She had no sooner taken up the spindle than, being lively and
obstinate, she handled it so awkwardly and carelessly that the point
pierced her finger. Though it was so small a wound, she fainted away
at once, and dropped silently down on the floor. The poor frightened
old woman called for help; shortly came the ladies in waiting, who
tried every means to restore their young mistress, but all their care
was useless. She lay, beautiful as an angel, the colour still
lingering in her lips and cheeks; her fair bosom softly stirred with
her breath: only her eyes were fast closed. When the king her father
and the queen her mother beheld her thus, they knew regret was
idle--all had happened as the cruel fairy meant. But they also knew
that their daughter would not sleep for ever, though after one hundred
years it was not likely they would either of them behold her
awakening. Until that happy hour should arrive, they determined to
leave her in repose. They sent away all the physicians and attendants,
and themselves sorrowfully laid her upon a bed of embroidery, in the
most elegant apartment of the palace. There she slept and looked like
a sleeping angel still.
When this misfortune happened, the kindly young fairy who had saved
the princess by changing her sleep of death into this sleep of a
hundred years, was twelve thousand leagues away in the kingdom of
Mataquin.
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