Below sat a little group of goblins around a fire, the smoke of which vanished in the darkness far aloft. The sides of the cave were full of shining minerals like those of the palace hall; and the company was evidently of a superior order, for everyone wore stones about head, or arms, or waist, shining dull gorgeous colours in the light of the fire. Nor had Curdie looked long before he recognized the king himself, and found that he had made his way into the inner apartment of the royal family. He had never had such a good chance of hearing something. He crept through the hole as softly as he could, scrambled a good way down the wall towards them without attracting attention, and then sat down and listened. The king, evidently the queen, and probably the crown prince and the Prime Minister were talking together. He was sure of the queen by her shoes, for as she warmed her feet at the fire, he saw them quite plainly.
“That will be fun!” said the one he took for the crown prince. It was the first whole sentence he heard.
“I don’t see why you should think it such a grand affair!” said his stepmother, tossing her head backward.
“You must remember, my spouse,” interposed His Majesty, as if making excuse for his son, “he has got the same blood in him. His mother—”
“Don’t talk to me of his mother! You positively encourage his unnatural fancies. Whatever belongs to that mother ought to be cut out of him.”
“You forget yourself, my dear!” said the king.
“I don’t,” said the queen, “nor you either. If you expect me to approve of such coarse tastes, you will find yourself mistaken. I don’t wear shoes for nothing.”