Time had not yet robbed the former of a single charm, while from the Queen he had wrested many; their number was known only to herself and her confidantes, but at this hour she did not miss them.

Barine, with a low, modest bow, advanced towards the Queen, who commenced the conversation by graciously apologizing for the late hour at which she had summoned her.  “But,” she added, “you belong to the ranks of the nightingales, who during the night most readily and exquisitely reveal to us what stirs their hearts—­”

Barine gazed silently at the floor a moment, and when she raised her eyes her voice was faint and timid.  “I sing, it is true, your Majesty, but I have nothing else in common with the birds.  The wings which, when a child, bore me wherever I desired, have lost their strength.  They do not wholly refuse their service, but they now require favourable hours to move.”

“I should not have expected that in the time of your youth, your most beautiful possession,” replied the Queen.  “Yet it is well.  I too—­how long ago it seems!—­was a child, and my imagination outstripped even the flight of the eagle.  It could dare the risk unpunished.  Now——­Whoever has reached mature life is wise to let these wings remain idle.  The mortal who ventures to use them may easily approach too near the sun, and, like Icarus, the wax will melt from his pinions.  Let me tell you this:  To the child the gift of imagination is nourishing bread.  In later years we need it only as salt, as spice, as stimulating wine.  Doubtless it points out many paths, and shows us their end; but, of a hundred rambles to which it summons him, scarcely one pleases the mature man.  No troublesome parasite is more persistently and sharply rebuffed.  Who can blame the ill-treated friend if it is less ready to serve us as the years go on?  The wise man will keep his ears ever open, but rarely lend it his active hand.  To banish it from life is to deprive the plant of blossoms, the rose of its fragrance, the sky of its stars.”

“I have often said the same things to myself, though in a less clear and beautiful form, when life has been darkened,” replied Barine, with a faint blush; for she felt that these words were doubtless intended to warn her against cherishing too aspiring wishes.  “But, your Majesty, here also the gods place you, the great Queen, far above us.  We should often find existence bare indeed but for the fancy which endows us with imaginary possessions.  You have the power to secure a thousand things which to us common mortals only the gift of imagination pictures as attainable.”