(_At the royal word ‘Go!’_ ALL _attack the ices with their tongues, greedily but gracefully. They end in the approved manner by gobbling up the sieves. It is especially charming to see the last of_ LORD TIME’S _sieve unbend. The music becomes irresistible. If you did not dance you would be abandoned by your legs. It is as if a golden coin had been dropped into a golden slot. Ranks are levelled. The_ KING _asks_ GLADYS _for this one; the_ QUEEN _is whisked away by_ MR. BODIE. _Perhaps they dance like costers: if you had time to reflect you might think it a scene in the streets. It becomes too merry to last; couples are whirled through the walls as if the floor itself were rotating: soon_ CINDERELLA _and her_ PRINCE _dance alone. It is then that the clock begins to strike twelve._ CINDERELLA _should fly now, or woe befall her. Alas, she hears nothing save the whispers of her lover. The hour has struck, and her glorious gown shrinks slowly into the tattered frock of a girl with a broom. Too late she huddles on the floor to conceal the change. In another moment the_ PRINCE _must see. The children gather round her with little cries, and, spreading out their nightgowns to conceal her, rush her from the scene. It is then that the_ PRINCE _discovers his loss. In a frenzy he calls her sweet name. The bewildered girl has even forgotten to drop the slipper, without which he shall never find her._ MARIE-THERESE, _the ever-vigilant, steals back with it, and leaves it on the floor_. _The ball-room is growing dark. The lamps have gone out. There is no light save the tiniest glow, which has been showing on the floor all the time, unregarded by us. It seems to come from a policeman’s lantern. The gold is all washed out by the odd streaks of white that come down like rain. Soon the_ PRINCE’S _cry of_ ‘CINDERELLA, CINDERELLA’ _dies away. It is no longer a ball-room on which the lantern sheds this feeble ray. It is the street outside_ CINDERELLA’S _door, a white street now, silent in snow. The child in her rags, the policeman’s scarf still round her precious feet, is asleep on the door step, very little life left in her, very little oil left in the lantern._) III