Dorothy's bed was a little bundle of straw up in the garret under the
eaves. She was very tired when she lay down, but did not dare to sleep,
for she remembered her promise to mend the eldest daughter's apron. So
she waited until the house was still; then she arose and crept softly
down-stairs.
The fire on the hearth was still burning, and there sat the princess,
and the sweet hum of her singing filled the room. But Dorothy could not
understand a word of the song, because it was in the Persian language.
She stood in the doorway and trembled; she did not know what to do. It
seemed to her that she must be losing her wits to see a princess where
every one else saw a cat. Still she could not doubt the evidence of her
own eyes. Finally she advanced a little way and courtesied very low. The
princess stopped singing at once. She arose in a stately fashion, and
fastened her bright eyes upon Dorothy.
"So you know me?" said she.
Dorothy courtesied again.
"Are you positive that I am not a cat?"
Dorothy courtesied.
"Well, I am _not_ a cat," said the princess. "I am a true princess from
Persia, travelling incognita. You are the first person who has pierced
my disguise. You must have very extraordinary eyes. Aren't you hungry?"
Dorothy courtesied.
"Come here and eat the stew," ordered the princess, in a commanding
tone. "Meantime I will cook my own supper."
With that the princess gave a graceful leap across the floor; her gray
velvet robe fluttered like a gray wing.
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