"Now
remember twelve o'clock," was her godmother's parting speech; and she
thought she certainly should. But the prince's attentions to her were
greater even than the first evening, and in the delight of listening
to his pleasant conversation, time slipped by unperceived. While she
was sitting beside him in a lovely alcove, and looking at the moon
from under a bower of orange blossoms, she heard a clock strike the
first stroke of twelve. She started up, and fled away as lightly as a
deer.
Amazed, the prince followed, but could not catch her. Indeed he missed
his lovely princess altogether, and only saw running out of the palace
doors a little dirty lass whom he had never beheld before, and of whom
he certainly would never have taken the least notice, Cinderella
arrived at home breathless and weary, ragged and cold, without
carriage, or footmen, or coachman; the only remnant of her past
magnificence being one of her little glass slippers;--the other she
had dropped in the ball-room as she ran away.
When the two sisters returned they were full of this strange
adventure, how the beautiful lady had appeared at the ball more
beautiful than ever, and enchanted every one who looked at her; and
how as the clock was striking twelve she had suddenly risen up and
fled through the ball-room, disappearing no one knew how or where, and
dropping one of her glass slippers behind her in her flight.
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