Suddenly a great carriage came by, and in the carriage sat an old lady; she looked at the little girl and felt pity for her and said to the clergyman: 

“Give me the little girl and I will provide for her.”

Karen thought this was for the sake of the shoes; but the old lady declared they were hideous; and they were burned.  But Karen herself was clothed neatly and properly:  she was taught to read and to sew, and the people said she was agreeable.  But her mirror said, “You are much more than agreeable; you are beautiful.”

Once the Queen travelled through the country, and had her little daughter with her; and the daughter was a Princess.  And the people flocked toward the castle, and Karen too was among them; and the little Princess stood in a fine white dress at a window, and let herself be gazed at.  She had neither train nor golden crown, but she wore splendid red morocco shoes; they were certainly far handsomer than those the shoemaker’s wife had made for little Karen.  Nothing in the world can compare with red shoes!

Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed:  new clothes were made for her, and she was to have new shoes.  The rich shoemaker in the town took the measure of her little feet; this was done in his own house, in his little room, and there stood great glass cases with neat shoes and shining boots.  It had quite a charming appearance, but the old lady could not see well, and therefore took no pleasure in it.  Among the shoes stood a red pair, just like those which the princess had worn.  How beautiful they were!  The shoemaker also said they had been made for a Count’s child, but they had not fitted.

“That must be patent leather,” observed the old lady, “the shoes shine so!”

“Yes, they shine!” replied Karen; and they fitted her, and were bought.  But the old lady did not know that they were red; for she would never have allowed Karen to go to the confirmation in red shoes; and that is what Karen did.

Every one was looking at her shoes.  And when she went across the church porch, toward the door of the choir, it seemed to her as if the old pictures on the tombstones, the portraits of clergymen and clergymen’s wives, in their stiff collars and long black garments, fixed their eyes upon her red shoes.  And she thought of her shoes only, when the priest laid his hand upon her head and spoke holy words.  And the organ pealed solemnly, the children sang with their fresh sweet voices, and the old preceptor sang too; but Karen thought only of her red shoes.

In the afternoon the old lady was informed by everyone that the shoes were red; and she said it was naughty and unsuitable, and that when Karen went to church in future, she should always go in black shoes, even if they were old.

Next Sunday was sacrament Sunday.  And Karen looked at the black shoes, and looked at the red ones—­looked at them again—­and put on the red ones.