Below the dais were six long tables for the guests, and there was only just room between the tables for the servants to pass, so you may judge how crowded the room was. Such a glittering of silks, such a flashing of jewels, such a dazzle and splendour had never been seen since the time of the King's coronation, and all the guests were laughing and talking merrily. The court painter was there, of course, to make a picture of the gorgeous scene, and was kept so busy sketching on his tablets that he had no time to get any food, though probably he had a good meal afterwards.

And the nice things there were to eat! There were:

Then followed the smaller dishes:

One might fill pages merely by setting down the names of all the delicacies.

Each dish was brought in by the servants in a kind of procession, headed by the Master-Cook, looking as grand and solemn as an archbishop, for he was a grave and dignified person, and of course he had a great responsibility. The guests were served by little page-boys of noble birth, dressed in the liveries of their masters, and these pages handed the dishes and the wines most politely on their bended knees as they had been taught to do.

So the guests enjoyed themselves, and the fiddlers played, and the King laughed at everything everybody said, because he was in a mighty good humour, and the bright afternoon sun, shining through the western windows, lighted up the rich hangings on the walls, and flashed upon the jewels on fair ladies' fingers, and fell upon the marble pavement in a pool of gold.

And then, you know, when the merriment was at its height, something happened! There was a sudden cry, and a harsh voice, like the croaking of a raven, sounded through the room.

"Be merry, my lords and ladies," cried the voice. "Laugh while you may, but remember that tears may follow laughter."

A hush fell upon all the brilliant assembly. The Queen turned pale and shuddered. The King rose hurriedly from his place, and he and all the guests turned to look at the strange figure that had suddenly appeared in the doorway.

They saw an old woman bent almost double with age, her grey head with matted hair sunk deep between her shoulders. Her face was white and twisted with anger, and her green eyes flashed spitefully.

Slowly she advanced towards the dais, and stretching out her arm, pointed her finger at the gold plates and the gold caskets set before the fairy godmothers. "There's one," said she, with a harsh laugh, "there's two, there's twelve! Did you not know, O King, that there were thirteen wise women in your kingdom, and the thirteenth the wisest and most powerful of all? Where, then, is the plate and the casket set for me?"

The King began to make excuses, imploring the angry old fairy to forgive him for his neglect, and begging her to sit down and join them in their festivities. "For," said he, "I am sure you are very welcome."

"Is it so, indeed?" said the thirteenth fairy. "I am not too late, then, though the feast is all but done. I shall eat off silver while my sisters eat off gold, and there is no curiously-shaped casket for me. No matter, I am content, because I am in time, and I shall dower the Princess with the gift which I have brought for her!" And here the spiteful creature uttered another of her sneering laughs, which made the blood of all the guests run cold.

By dint of much coaxing the King at last managed to persuade her to sit down, and the feast proceeded. But a chill had been cast over the assembly, and nothing was quite the same as it had been before. The old crone muttered and mouthed over her food, now and again smiling to herself as though she were cherishing some secret and evil triumph. The other fairies cast anxious glances at her, for they feared her malice, and the youngest fairy of all, who happened to be seated at the end of the table, presently rose up quietly from her place and, stealing away, hid herself behind the arras. And nobody saw her go, nor did a single person remark upon her absence.