“I wish I had some shoes,” replied Honey-Bee. Upon which King Loc struck his lance against a bronze disc that hung on the surface of the rock, and instantly something bounded like a ball out of the depths of the cavern. Increasing in size it disclosed the face of a dwarf with features such as painters give to the illustrious Belisarius, but his leather apron proclaimed that he was a shoemaker. He was indeed the chief of the shoemakers. “True,” said the king, “choose the softest leather out of our store-houses, take cloth-of-gold and silver, ask the guardian of my treasures for a thousand pearls of the finest water, and with this leather, these fabrics, and these pearls create a pair of shoes for the lady Honey-Bee.” At these words True threw himself at the feet of Honey-Bee and measured them with great care. “Little King Loc,” said Honey-Bee, “I want the pretty shoes you promised at once, because as soon as I have them I must return to Clarides to my mother.” “You shall have the shoes,” King Loc replied; “you shall have them to walk about the mountain, but not to return to Clarides, for never again shall you leave this kingdom, where we will teach you wonderful secrets still unknown on earth. The dwarfs are superior to men, and it is your good fortune that you are made welcome amongst them.” “It is my misfortune,” replied Honey-Bee. “Little King Loc, give me a pair of wooden shoes, such as the peasants wear, and let me return to Clarides.” But King Loc made a sign with his head to signify that this was impossible. Then Honey-Bee clasped her hands and said, coaxingly: “Little King Loc, let me go and I will love you very much.” “You will forget me in your shining world.” “Little King Loc, I will never forget you, and I will love you as much as I love Flying Wind.” “And who is Flying Wind?” “It is my milk-white steed, and he has rose-coloured reins and he eats out of my hand. When he was very little Francoeur the squire used to bring him to my room every morning and I kissed him. But now Francceur is in Rome, and Flying Wind is too big to mount the stairs.” King Loc smiled. “Will you love me more than Flying Wind?” “Indeed I would,” said Honey-Bee. “Well said,” cried the King. “Indeed I would, but I cannot, I hate you, little King Loc, because you will not let me see my mother and George again.” “Who is George?” “George is George and I love him.” The friendship of King Loc for Honey-Bee had increased prodigiously in a few minutes, and as he had already made up his mind to marry her as soon as she was of age, and hoped through her to reconcile men and dwarfs, he feared that later on George might become his rival and wreck his plans. It was because of this that he turned away frowning, his head bowed as if with care. Honey-Bee seeing that she had offended him pulled him gently by his mantle. “Little King Loc,” she said, in a voice both tender and sad, “why should we make each other unhappy, you and I?”