Now, when all the archers had gone to sleep poor Muscadel stole out and wandered through the palace gardens, and looked at the white fountains rising and falling in the moonlight. He saw the white lilies sleeping standing up, just like real live sentinels. He saw the white pea-cocks roosting in the yew-trees, and the white swans cuddled up among the reeds by the lake. He went hither and thither through the cold white beauty of the night, and he thought and thought, but he could not think any thought that was worth the trouble of thinking. And at last he sat down on a marble bench and very nearly wished that he were dead. Not quite, of course, because people very seldom do that; and if he had there would have been an end to this story. The silence and the moonlight soothed him; his poor brain felt clearer and brighter, and at last he had the sense to say, without at all knowing that he was saying anything sensible, 'I wish I was clever.' And instantly he was. The change was so great, so sudden, and so violent that it nearly choked him. He drew two or three difficult breaths, and then he said: 'Oh, I see! How stupid of me! I wish I were the kind of person the real Princess could love.' And he felt his body change. He grew thinner, and his face seemed to grow a different shape. He hastened to the lake and leaned over it, and saw by the moonlight the reflection of his own face in the water. It was not particularly handsome, but he was not ashamed of the deep-set eyes, largish nose, and firm lips and chin. 'So that's the sort of man she could love!' he said, and went home to bed like a sensible person. Early in the morning he went out into the palace garden, and it was not all gray and white, as it had been the night before, with moonlight and white lilies, but gold and red, with sunshine and roses, and hollyhocks and carnations. He went and waited under the Princess's window, for he had grown clever enough to know that the Princess, since she was now a dairymaid, would be awake betimes. And sure enough the green silk curtains were presently drawn back, and the drowsy, blowzy, frowzy face of the dairymaid looked out. 'Halloa!' she said to Muscadel, among the roses, 'what are _you_ up to?' 'I am the archer you love,' said Muscadel, among the roses. 'Not you,' she said. 'But indeed!' said he. [Illustration: '"You've got a face as long as a fiddle."'--Page 367.] 'Lawks!' said the dairymaid. 'Don't you love me like this?' said Muscadel. 'Not a bit,' said she; 'go along, do! You've got a face as long as a fiddle, and I never could abide black hair.' 'I'm going to stay like this,' said he. 'Then what's to become of me?' she asked, and waited for an answer with her mouth half open.