The little old woman glanced down on his legs and feet, which he did not
know were different from those of other children, and then at his sweet,
bright face, which, though he knew not that either, was exceedingly
different from many children's faces, which are often so fretful, cross,
sullen. Looking at him, instead of sighing, she smiled. "I beg your
pardon, my Prince," said she.

"Yes, I am a prince, and my name is Dolor; will you tell me yours,
madam?"

The little old woman laughed like a chime of silver bells.

"I have not got a name--or, rather, I have so many names that I don't
know which to choose. However, it was I who gave you yours, and you will
belong to me all your days. I am your godmother."

"Hurrah!" cried the little Prince; "I am glad I belong to you, for I
like you very much. Will you come and play with me?"

So they sat down together and played. By and by they began to talk.

"Are you very dull here?" asked the little old woman.

"Not particularly, thank you, godmother. I have plenty to eat and drink,
and my lessons to do, and my books to read--lots of books."

"And you want nothing?"

"Nothing. Yes--perhaps----If you please, godmother, could you bring me
just one more thing?"