She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there do not dance; they have far better things to do.  She wished to sit down on the poor man’s grave, where the bitter fern grows; but there was no peace nor rest for her.  And when she danced toward the open church door, she saw there an angel in long white garments, with wings that reached from his shoulders to his feet; his countenance was serious and stern, and in his hand he held a sword that was broad and gleaming.

“Thou shalt dance!” he said—­“dance on thy red shoes, till thou art pale and cold, and till thy body shrivels to a skeleton.  Thou shalt dance from door to door, and where proud, haughty children dwell, shalt thou knock, that they may hear thee, and be afraid of thee!  Thou shalt dance, dance!”

“Mercy!” cried Karen.

But she did not hear what the angel answered, for the shoes carried her away—­carried her through the door on to the field, over stock and stone, and she was always obliged to dance.

One morning she danced past a door which she knew well.  There was a sound of psalm-singing within, and a coffin was carried out, adorned with flowers.  Then she knew that the old lady was dead, and she felt that she was deserted by all, and condemned by the angel of heaven.

She danced, and was compelled to dance—­to dance in the dark night.  The shoes carried her on over thorn and brier; she scratched herself till she bled; she danced away across the heath to a little lonely house.  Here she knew the executioner dwelt; and she tapped with her fingers on the panes, and called: 

“Come out, come out!  I cannot come in for I must dance!”

And the executioner said: 

“You probably don’t know who I am?  I cut off the bad people’s heads with my axe, and mark how my axe rings!”

“Do not strike off my head,” said Karen, “for if you do I cannot repent of my sin.  But strike off my feet with the red shoes!”

And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner cut off her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little feet over the fields and into the deep forest.

And he cut her a pair of wooden feet, with crutches, and taught her a psalm, which the criminals always sing; and she kissed the hand that had held the axe, and went away across the heath.

“Now I have suffered pain enough for the red shoes,” said she.  “Now I will go into the church, that they may see me.”

And she went quickly toward the church door, but when she came there the red shoes danced before her, so that she was frightened, and turned back.

The whole week through she was sorrowful, and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday came she said: 

“Now I have suffered and striven enough!  I think that I am just as good as many of those who sit in the church and carry their heads high.”

And then she went boldly on; but she did not get further than the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing along before her; then she was seized with terror, and turned back, and repented of her sin right heartily.