Now the old lady was sick, and it was said that she could not recover.  She must be nursed and waited upon, and there was no one whose duty it was so much as Karen’s.  But there was to be a great ball, to which Karen was invited.  She looked at the old lady, who could not recover; she looked at the red shoes, and she thought there could be no sin in it.  She put on the red shoes,—­she thought she might do that also; and she went to the ball and began to dance.

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When she went to dance to the right, the shoes would dance to the left; and when she went to dance up the room, the shoes would dance back again; and they danced down the steps, into the street, and from there she danced, and danced straight out into the gloomy wood.

Then it was light up among the trees, and she fancied it must be the moon, for there was a face; but it was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there, nodded his head, and said, “Look! what beautiful dancing-shoes!”

Then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red shoes, but they clung fast; and she pulled down her stockings, but the shoes seemed to have grown to her feet; and she danced, and must dance, over fields and over meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at night it was most fearful.

She danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not dance; they had something better to do than to dance.  She wished to seat herself on a poor man’s grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was neither peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church-door, she saw an angel standing there.  He wore long white garments, he had wings which reached from his shoulders to the earth, his countenance was severe and grave, and in his hand he held a sword, broad and glittering.

“Dance shalt thou!” said he, “dance in thy red shoes till thou art pale and cold!  Dance shalt thou from door to door; and where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt stand and knock, that they may hear thee and tremble!  Dance shalt thou!—­”

“Mercy!” cried Karen.  But she did not hear the angel’s reply, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, across roads and bridges, and she must keep ever dancing.

One morning she danced past a door she well knew.  Within sounded a psalm; a coffin decked with flowers was borne forth.  Then she knew that the old lady was dead, and that she was abandoned by all.  She danced, and she was forced to dance through the gloomy night.  The shoes carried her over stock and stone; she was torn till she bled.  She danced over the heath till she came to a little house.  Here, she knew, dwelt the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the window, and said, “Come out! come out!  I cannot come in, for I am forced to dance.”

And the executioner said, “Thou dost not know who I am, I fancy.  I strike bad people’s heads off; and I hear that my axe rings!”