The moon stared at the princess, and the princess stared at the moon; but the moon had the best of it, and the princess began to cry.  And now the question was between the moon and the cottage.  The princess thought she knew the worst of the moon, and she knew nothing at all about the cottage, therefore she would stay with the moon.  Strange, was it not, that she should have been so long with the wise woman, and yet know nothing about that cottage?  As for the moon, she did not by any means know the worst of her, or even, that, if she were to fall asleep where she could find her, the old witch would certainly do her best to twist her face.

But she had scarcely sat a moment longer before she was assailed by all sorts of fresh fears.  First of all, the soft wind blowing gently through the dry stalks of the heather and its thousands of little bells raised a sweet rustling, which the princess took for the hissing of serpents, for you know she had been naughty for so long that she could not in a great many things tell the good from the bad.  Then nobody could deny that there, all round about the heath, like a ring of darkness, lay the gloomy fir-wood, and the princess knew what it was full of, and every now and then she thought she heard the howling of its wolves and hyenas.  And who could tell but some of them might break from their covert and sweep like a shadow across the heath?  Indeed, it was not once nor twice that for a moment she was fully persuaded she saw a great beast coming leaping and bounding through the moonlight to have her all to himself.  She did not know that not a single evil creature dared set foot on that heath, or that, if one should do so, it would that instant wither up and cease.  If an army of them had rushed to invade it, it would have melted away on the edge of it, and ceased like a dying wave.—­She even imagined that the moon was slowly coming nearer and nearer down the sky to take her and freeze her to death in her arms.  The wise woman, too, she felt sure, although her cottage looked asleep, was watching her at some little window.  In this, however, she would have been quite right, if she had only imagined enough—­namely, that the wise woman was watching over her from the little window.  But after all, somehow, the thought of the wise woman was less frightful than that of any of her other terrors, and at length she began to wonder whether it the moonlight to have her all to himself.  She did not know that not a single evil creature dared set foot on that heath, or that, if one should do so, it would that instant wither up and cease.  If an army of them had rushed to invade it, it would have melted away on the edge of it, and ceased like a dying wave.—­She even imagined that the moon was slowly coming nearer and nearer down the sky to take her and freeze her to death in her arms.  The wise woman, too, she felt sure, although her cottage looked asleep, was watching her at some little window.  In this, however, she would have