Then said the second sister:  “It is we who have seen the truly wonderful things, Cinderella.”

“Yes,” said Cinderella dreamily, “I know.”

Said the first sister:  “But you don’t know—­not the half.  You know we’ve been to the ball, but you don’t know what happened there.”

Cinderella leaned forward, resting her cheeks in her hands.  Her sisters could not see her eyes.  “Tell me what happened,” she said.

“The most wonderful princess came to the ball,” said the first sister.  “Quite a stranger—­not a soul knew her.  She was a sensation.”

The second sister could scarcely wait to add, “The loveliest creature ever seen!”

Cinderella looked at her sisters now, one after the other.  Her eyes seemed to caress them.  “Ah, tell me about her,” she said.

Said the first sister:  “She first came last night—­and then again to-night.  She came late, from nobody knew where in an equipage the like of which was never seen before.  She came late and left early.”

Cinderella forgot herself a little.  “Yes, I know,” she said, “but where——­”

“How should you know?” demanded the second sister sharply.

Cinderella hastened to say, “I mean—­tell me more about her.”

It was the first sister’s turn to speak.  “We could never describe her,” she said.  “Her eyes—­they were like certain bright flowers shining in the dusk . . .”

“Oh, were they!” cried Cinderella softly.

And now the second sister said, “And her form—­it was like a young poplar tree in the wind . . .”

“Oh, how good of you to tell me!” cried Cinderella.

The first sister could scarcely wait to say, “And her dress—­it was like dew on the grass!”

Cinderella brought her hands together with rapture.  “Was it truly?” she asked.

“Quite like it,” said the first sister.  “And her hair and cheeks—­they were—­they were like yours, poor Cinderella, only of course much more beautiful!”

Cinderella’s hands were still clasped.  “Oh, much more beautiful, I know!” she murmured softly.

Then a silence fell upon all the sisters.  Cinderella clasped her hands about her knees and gazed dreamily into the fireplace.  Her sisters stole pitying glances at her.  They noted her wretched dress, and gentle regret shone in their eyes.

At length the first sister said generously, “You know, Cinderella, we should be very glad to have you go places with us and have a good time, too, if mother——­”

But the second sister interrupted dutifully, “If it were the custom for the younger sister to be treated like the older sisters.”

Cinderella nodded, “I know it is a custom—­that’s all,” she said.  “Maybe my turn will come when you’ve both got good husbands and fine establishments of your own.”

The two sisters arose.  The first began to yawn loudly; but remembering her manners she patted her lips with her finger tips, changing the yawn into a smile.  She advanced toward the door by which she had entered.  The second sister made as if to follow her, but turned for a final word.