“Stay, dear little Fawn,” he cried, “I would not hurt you for the world.”  But the wind carried off the words before they reached her ears.  Long he chased the poor creature, till at last worn out the Fawn sank down on the ground and the Prince came up to her.

“Beautiful Fawn,” said he, “do not fear me, I shall lead you with me everywhere.”  Then he covered her with roses and fed her with the choicest leaves and grasses.

But as evening drew near the Fawn longed to escape, for what would happen should she suddenly change into a Princess there in the forest.  Presently the Prince went to fetch some water for her, and while he was gone she ran homewards.  The next day for a long time she hid from the Prince, but at last he found her, and as she dashed off he shot an arrow which wounded her in the leg.

Sad that he should have done so cruel a thing, the Prince took herbs and laid them upon the wound, and at last he went to fetch Becafigue to help him carry her to the house.  He tied her to a tree.

Alas!  Who would have thought that the most beautiful Princess in the world would be treated thus?  While she was straining at the ribbons trying to break them, Giroflee arrived, and was leading her away when the Prince met them and claimed the Fawn as his.

“Sir,” politely replied Giroflee, “the Fawn was mine before it was yours,” and she spoke to the Fawn, and the Fawn obeyed her in such a way that the Prince could not doubt that what she said was true.  Giroflee then went on, and, to the surprise of the Prince and Becafigue, entered the old woman’s house where they themselves lodged.  Then Becafigue told the Prince that unless he was much mistaken the owner of the Fawn had lived with the Princess Desiree when he went there as ambassador.

“I mean to see her again,” said Becafigue, “there is only a partition between her room and ours.”  And soon he had made a hole large enough to peep through, and through it he saw the charming Princess dressed in a robe of brocaded silver, with flowers embroidered in gold and emeralds, her hair falling in heavy masses on the most beautiful neck in the world.  Giroflee was on her knees before her, bandaging up one arm from which the blood was flowing.  They both seemed greatly concerned about the wound:  “Let me die,” the Princess was saying, “death would be better than the life which I lead.  To be a Fawn all the day, to hear him speaking, and not to be able to tell him of my sad fate.”

One can guess the astonishment of Becafigue and of the Prince.  Guerrier would almost have died of pleasure had he not thought that it must be some enchantment, for did he not know that Desiree and her Lady in Waiting were shut up in the castle.

He went softly and knocked at the chamber door, which Giroflee opened, thinking it was the old woman, for she required help for the wounded arm.

The Prince entered, threw himself at Desiree’s feet, and found she was indeed his Princess.