Now the cherry-stone which the beggar had given the gardener’s son had been planted not far from the spot on which they were standing when the rebels saw them. It had grown into a magnificent tree, and, as it was now springtime, every branch and twig was a mass of blossom. The Prince and his companion heard a great shouting, and, looking round, they saw the palace in flames, and a number of horsemen bearing down on them with drawn swords. As they were standing unarmed in the midst of an open plain, they knew the only thing they could do was to run to the shelter of a wood in front of them, and try to escape among the trees; so they set off as fast as they could go. The horsemen redoubled their pace with loud shouts. They were nearing the wood when the Prince, who was in advance, tripped and fell just as they passed the cherry-tree. He flung his arms round the trunk to save himself, and the gardener’s son stopped running, for he would not leave him alone to be killed. He made a terribly fierce face and stood in front of his friend with his fists clenched. Then a wonderful thing happened. The petals of the cherry-blossoms began to fall like snow; hither and thither they went, blown by a wind which had suddenly risen, and filling the air with a whirl of blinding white. It was a storm of whiteness. Soon they lay knee-deep for yards round the tree. It was impossible to see a yard in front of one’s face, and the horsemen galloped about this way and that, bewildered by the showers of petals and calling one to the other in great dismay. The young men leaned close against the trunk, listening to their cries. Suddenly the gardener’s son put his finger on a little rough place in the bark and, to his astonishment, something moved under his hand. A door opened in the trunk. He went in, drawing the Prince after him, and shut it behind them. They were at the top of a narrow stair which led far down to where a glimmer of light could be seen below. They descended, one after the other, and found themselves in a country they had never seen before. They were standing by a winding stream that ran between alders whose roots were almost in the water; all along the bank was a perfect forest of daffodils, golden and shining. Above, the sky was primrose-yellow with sunset, and a little crescent moon hung in mid-air. There was an island in the water, and on it was sitting the most lovely pale Princess that ever was seen, with a wreath of daffodils in her hair. As they looked at her she waved her hand to them and they both fell in love with her at once. The Prince and the gardener’s son did not know whether to take their way back again up the steps or not, but, when they tried to do so, they found all trace of them had disappeared; besides, they could not tear themselves away from the Princess. She rose and sprang over the little bit of stream that divided the island from the bank and came to meet them. They took off their caps and bowed to the ground.