You may imagine that the young girls of the country were not at all satisfied. What was the use of being beautiful if you could not admire yourself? They might have used the brooks and lakes for mirrors; but the queen had foreseen that, and had hidden all of them under closely joined flagstones. Water was drawn from wells so deep that it was impossible to see the liquid surface, and shallow basins must be used instead of buckets, because in the latter there might be reflections. Such a dismal state of affairs, especially for the pretty coquettes, who were no more rare in this country than in others. The queen had no compassion, being well content that her subjects should suffer as much annoyance from the lack of a mirror as she felt at the sight of one. However, in a suburb of the city there lived a young girl called Jacinta, who was a little better off than the rest, thanks to her sweetheart, Valentin. For if someone thinks you are beautiful, and loses no chance to tell you so, he is almost as good as a mirror. "Tell me the truth," she would say; "what is the color of my eyes?" "They are like dewy forget-me-nots." "And my skin is not quite black?" "You know that your forehead is whiter than freshly fallen snow, and your cheeks are like blush roses." "How about my lips?" "Cherries are pale beside them." "And my teeth, if you please?" "Grains of rice are not as white." "But my ears, should I be ashamed of them?" "Yes, if you would be ashamed of two little pink shells among your pretty curls." And so on endlessly; she delighted, he still more charmed, for his words came from the depth of his heart and she had the pleasure of hearing herself praised, he the delight of seeing her. So their love grew more deep and tender every hour, and the day that he asked her to marry him she blushed certainly, but it was not with anger. But, unluckily, the news of their happiness reached the wicked queen, whose only pleasure was to torment others, and Jacinta more than anyone else, on account of her beauty. A little while before the marriage Jacinta was walking in the orchard one evening, when an old crone approached, asking for alms, but suddenly jumped back with a shriek as if she had stepped on a toad, crying: "Heavens, what do I see?" "What is the matter, my good woman? What is it you see? Tell me." "The ugliest creature I ever beheld." "Then you are not looking at me," said Jacinta, with innocent vanity. "Alas! yes, my poor child, it is you. I have been a long time on this earth, but never have I met anyone so hideous as you!" "What! am I ugly?" "A hundred times uglier than I can tell you." "But my eyes--" "They are a sort of dirty gray; but that would be nothing if you had not such an outrageous squint!" "My complexion--" "It looks as if you had rubbed coal-dust on your forehead and cheeks." "My mouth--" "It is pale and withered, like a faded flower." "My teeth--"