"Wretched, hideous black, thou shalt surely die!" cried the king;
"none shall deceive me with impunity." He then drew a poniard, and was
preparing to take instant vengeance, when, recollecting himself--"I do
thee too much honour," said he; "rather let my cooks cut thee in
pieces to make a hash for my hounds."
The old queen, as humane as her son was cruel, knew there was but one
means of saving the unfortunate victim; this was to appear still more
enraged than the king.
"I truly feel this injury," said she; "some times you have reproached
my weakness, but now behold a proof that I also can avenge. Your
orders must be strictly fulfilled--I myself shall witness the
execution." She then signed to the guards to lay hold of the
unfortunate Rose, who was dragged away by an iron chain fastened round
her neck. She gave herself up for lost, and uttering the most
heart-rending cries, was led away to a pigeon-house at the end of the
palace, furnished with some clean straw, where, however, the queen
promised to come on the following day.
Her majesty kept her word. Much affected by the sweetness of the
hapless bride, she promised to mitigate, as far as possible, her
melancholy situation.
Rose, very grateful, supplicated her benefactress to inform the
woodcutter's family that she was still alive, knowing what they would
suffer should the story reach them of the black Rose having
breakfasted the king's hounds.
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