In his sleep that night a dream came to him, a dream as of something that whispered and laughed in his ear. Over and over again it seemed to be saying, “The Red Mole came, and the full Moon came, and the Princess jumped down into the water!” Then his heart knocked so loud for joy that he started awake, and saw the Red Mole scuffling away to its burrow in the ground. Then he feared that the dream was but a thing devised to cheat his fancy, and get rid of him by making him go away and search for his Princess in the land of the Moon, by the way that she had told him. But he thought to himself, “If the Red Mole wants so much to get me away, it means that my beloved is somewhere near at hand. Is she in the well?” he began wondering; and as soon as it was light he went to where lay the well in its corner under the shadow of the wall. But though he searched long and diligently, there was no trace of her that he could find. Yet every time he came near to the well sorrow seemed to take hold of him, and, mixed with it, a kind of joy, as though indeed the heart of his beloved beat in this place. Near to the well stood a tall flower with bowed head. It seemed to him the only one in the whole garden that had any share in his sorrow: he wondered if the flower had grown up to mark the sad place of her burial. “O, my beloved Berenice, art thou near me now?” he murmured, heart-broken, one day as he passed by: then it seemed to him that all at once the flower stirred. He turned to look at it; it was like a sunflower, but white even to its centre, and its head kept drooping as if for pure grief. “Berenice, Berenice!” he wept, passing it. At dusk he returned again; and now the flower’s head was lifted up, and shone with a strange lustre. The Prince, as he went by on his way to the well, saw the flower turn its head, bending its face ever towards where he was. Then grief and joy stirred in his heart. “The flower knows where she is!” he said. So he bent, whispering, “Where, then, is Berenice?” and the flower lifted its head, and hung quite still, looking at him. Then the Prince whispered again, “The Red Mole came, and the full Moon came, and the Princess jumped down into the water?” But the flower swayed its head from side to side, and the Prince found that it had answered “No.” Then he had it in his mind to ask of it further things; but, as he was about to speak, he beheld its face all brimming over with tears, that suddenly broke and fell down in a shower over its leaves. At that his heart leaped, and his voice choked as he cried, “Art _thou_ my beloved, my Berenice?” And all at once the flower swayed down, and leaned, and fell weeping against his breast. So at last he knew! And joy and grief struggled together in him for mastery. All that night he knelt with the flower’s head upon his heart, stroking its soft leaves, and letting it rest between his hands; till, towards dawn, it seemed to him that peace was upon it and sleep.