Presently people who looked at Syringa’s beauty began to say, “Is not such beauty more than human? Where does it come from, and what keeps it alive?” And though many in course of time learned to talk like this, no one ever seemed to know from whom such talk first came. Later, folk began to whisper instead of to talk. “We have heard,” they said, “one way by which such beauty can be kept alive, yet only one.” Then others were heard saying, “Have you heard that this man’s wife lost her child before it was a week old, and knows not where it can be gone; and that that man’s wife lost hers in the same way a week before? And who will lose hers this week that’s coming, if we don’t know yet, we soon shall know!” And shortly, sure enough, all through the city there were mothers mourning for the loss of their children, who had gone, none knew where, before they were even a week old; and more and more the crowd was taught to say, “Look how beautiful the Queen grows!” whenever she walked or rode. The Queen-widow listened to all this, and laughed. In her own chamber she had a cage filled with little blue birds, who cried lamentably all day long. Now, just when all the city-talk and the dark looks of the people had grown to a head, Queen Syringa gave birth to a little son; and the King’s joy was beyond all bounds. “Now,” thought the Queen-widow, “now or never! Now I will ruin her or die!” She watched her opportunity, till one day she found Syringa lying alone upon her couch with the child asleep between her arms. The wicked Queen saw that Syringa also was asleep. She stooped down over the child, whispering a spell, and as she clapped her hands it started from between its mother’s arms and flew away in the form of a little blue bird. The Queen-widow did her best to catch the bird, but could not; then she took blood, and, smearing the Queen’s hands and face with it, left her lying there asleep. So Syringa was found; and the noise of it went through the city how she had killed her own child in order to keep alive her wondrous beauty. The King tried with heart and soul not to believe so wicked a story against the wife he loved, but the evidence was too strong. When asked, the Queen could explain nothing. “When I went to sleep,” she said, “my child was in my arms, and when I awoke it was gone!” Outside the palace all the people were crying for her to be put to death. “Give back to their mothers the babies that you have eaten!” they cried. The King sent for his foster-brother, and told him to take the Queen away to some lonely and desolate place, and there to make an end of her. “She is too beautiful,” he said, “and I loved her too much. Let her be very far away from me when she dies!”