I cannot remember all the names of the King’s little daughter, and indeed few can. The Archbishop who christened her says that he can, but he is so great and so deaf a dignitary that no one would think of asking him to prove it. They are all there, twelve pages of them, in the great book where are recorded the baptisms of all the Royal babies, so that you can look for yourself if none of the ones I can remember—Angelica Mary Delphine Violet Candida Pamelia Petronella Victoire Veronica Monica Anastasia Yvonne—happen to please you. It was the fifth birthday of the little Princess, and there were to be great celebrations in her honor. Fireworks would blossom in the night sky, and in the gardens lanterns were hung like bubbles of colored light from white rose tree to red, while the great fountains would turn from pink to mauve, from mauve to azure, to amber, and to green, as they flung up slender stems and great spreading lacy fronds of water. Every one from the King down to the smallest kitchen-maid had new clothes for the occasion, and the Chief Cook had created a birthday cake iced with fairy grottoes and gardens of spun sugar, so huge and so heavy that the Princess’s ten pages in their new sky-blue and silver liveries, staggered under the weight of it. The little Princess had a new gown of white satin, sewn so thickly with pearls that it was perfectly stiff, and stood as well without her as when she was inside it. It was standing by her bedside when the bells of the city awoke her on her birthday morning, together with her silver bath shaped like a great shell, and her nine lace petticoats, and her hoops to go over the petticoats, and her little white slippers on a cushion of cloth-of-silver, and her whalebone stays, and her cobweb stockings, and her ten Ladies-In-Waiting, Grand Duchesses every one. When she opened her blue eyes they all swept her the deepest curtsies, their skirts of bright brocade billowing up about them, and said together: “Long Life and Happiness to Your Serene Highness!” and then the first Grand Duchess popped her out of bed and into her bath, where she got a great deal of soap in the Princess’s eyes while she conversed in a most respectful and edifying manner. The second Grand Duchess, who was Lady-In-Waiting-In-Charge-Of-The-Imperial-Towel, was even more respectful, and nearly rubbed the Princess’s tiny button of a nose entirely off her face. The third Grand Duchess brushed and combed the little duck tails of yellow silk that covered the Royal head; and _oh_, how she did pull! The fourth Grand Duchess was Lady-In-Waiting-In-Charge-Of-The-Imperial-Shift, and as she was rather old and slow, although extremely noble, the Princess grew cold indeed before the shift covered up her little pink body. The fifth Grand Duchess put on the rigid stays. The sixth put on the stockings and slippers. The seventh was very important and gave herself airs, for the nine lace petticoats were her concern.