The lapwings arrived on all sides. Each one deposited in the mouth of the unfortunate King the fresh water for which he thirsted. "Ah, this is better than bread," said the King, reviving; "what can I do to show my gratitude?" "Nothing," said the King of the Lapwings. "Nothing," responded the other birds. "Continue your journey, and you will find yourself hereafter under the shadow of our wings." Then the King resumed his journey. Night came, and he found himself near the palace of the Queen whom he had intended to visit. The lapwings still continued with him. No matter how bright the sun shone, no matter how suffocating the heat as he journeyed on, a gentle lapwing came to his assistance. Touched by the solicitude of these birds the King said: "I cannot leave you, my friends, you who had pity on me when I was forsaken by all, without giving you a substantial evidence of my gratitude. Tell me, what can I do for you? How can I show you how grateful I am?" At these words the King of the Lapwings advanced and spoke to the King: "We desire, your majesty, to be the most beautiful of birds. We want a golden crown on our heads, so that we may be placed before the peacock, who is so proud of his plumage, and before the gay nightingale, who is so proud of his song." At these words a great sadness filled the heart of the King, who could read the future, and he responded, shaking his head: "Ah! you foolish birds, larger of heart than of mind! you do not know the weight of a crown and of the numberless dangers to which it exposes those who possess it. A golden diadem, say you? Alas! it will bring you misfortune; ambition without bounds is wicked and perilous. Dear friends, demand of me something else." "No, no," cried the lapwings, on all sides, young and old, little and big, "that is the only gift we desire—a crown on our heads. Ah, what happiness! We will fly in the air and each bird will envy us." The King then saw that nothing he could say would convince his companions. He had promised to satisfy their first request, and his word was sacred. "Come with me," said he, "to my friend, the magician Zacchar. No one is more expert in the working of metal. At his touch iron becomes more supple, silver becomes malleable, and gold is mere paste. Come! and you shall have the diadem you long for." During three days the magician worked pure gold. The bellows blew and the hammers thumped. During three nights he chased the marvellous crowns that were to adorn the heads of the lapwings. At the dawn of the fourth day the King arrived, with a sad smile on his face. "Friends," said he to the birds, "my promise is fulfilled. Take these diadems; take these diadems, which are masterpieces of art, and go whither your destiny calls you." At these words the lapwings uttered loud cries of joy. "Go, go," cried the King, "escape from man or you are lost."