After the king had eaten and drunk he turned to the princess and said, stroking her hair:
“Now, my child, what shall we do next?”
This was the question he almost always put to her first after their meal together; and Irene had been waiting for it with some impatience, for now, she thought, she should be able to settle a question which constantly perplexed her.
“I should like you to take me to see my great old grandmother.”
The king looked grave, and said:
“What does my little daughter mean?”
“I mean the Queen Irene that lives up in the tower—the very old lady, you know, with the long hair of silver.”
The king only gazed at his little princess with a look which she could not understand.
“She’s got her crown in her bedroom,” she went on; “but I’ve not been in there yet. You know she’s there, don’t you?”
“No,” said the king, very quietly.
“Then it must all be a dream,” said Irene. “I half thought it was; but I couldn’t be sure. Now I am sure of it. Besides, I couldn’t find her the next time I went up.”
At that moment a snow-white pigeon flew in at an open window and settled upon Irene’s head. She broke into a merry laugh, cowered a little, and put up her hands to her head, saying:
“Dear dovey, don’t peck me. You’ll pull out my hair with your long claws if you don’t mind.”