unenlightened days may not, in their dealings with ladies, white or
otherwise, have always been the soul of discretion and propriety.
One would like to think the best of her.

But even the best is indefensible. On the day appointed for the
wedding she seems to have surpassed herself. Into what particular
shape or form she altered the wretched Prince Gerbot; or into what
shape or form she persuaded him that he had been altered, it really,
so far as the moral responsibility of Malvina is concerned, seems to
be immaterial; the chronicle does not state: evidently something
too indelicate for a self-respecting chronicler to even hint at.
As, judging from other passages in the book, squeamishness does not
seem to have been the author's literary failing, the sensitive
reader can feel only grateful for the omission. It would have been
altogether too harrowing.

It had, of course, from Malvina's point of view, the desired effect.
The Princess Berchta appears to have given one look and then to have
fallen fainting into the arms of her attendants. The marriage was
postponed indefinitely, and Malvina, one sadly suspects, chortled.
Her triumph was short-lived.

Unfortunately for her, King Heremon had always been a patron of the
arts and science of his period. Among his friends were to be
reckoned magicians, genii, the Nine Korrigans or Fays of Brittany--
all sorts of parties capable of exerting influence, and, as events
proved, only too willing. Ambassadors waited upon Queen Harbundia;
and Harbundia, even had she wished, as on many previous occasions,
to stand by her favourite, had no alternative. The fairy Malvina
was called upon to return to Prince Gerbot his proper body and all