een its wings.
Then it sprang upwards and soared swiftly into the sky.

Soon they were back in the cave, and the Prince, dreading to return to
the prison tower, spent the hours of daylight in his warm nest between
the Fire Bird's wings.

The following night, as the hours were drawing on towards dawn, the Bird
set forth again. But again the Prince was unable to wake the sleeping
Princess, so they returned once more. But, on the third night, when they
reached the Princess, the light of dawn was in the sky, and, as it grew
every moment rosier and rosier, the Princess awoke of her own accord to
find the young Prince sitting among the flowers by her side. She had
only just time to see the Fire Bird pluck a feather from its wing with
its beak, and let it fall at her feet, before it soared away. She picked
up the feather and placed it in her bosom. Then she looked at the
Prince.

There is love, and there is love; but such love as sprang up at the same
moment in two hearts can never be described. It was as if she had been
dreaming about him all her life, and now she had awakened to find him.
It was as if his journey had been to Paradise. She raised her arms to
him, and he enfolded her and kissed her. Then they wandered among the
flowers and trees, and all the birds understood: they sang so divinely.

Towards evening, as the shadows began to fall, the Princess's sister,
who was a wicked Sorceress, came into the garden and stood behind a tree
watching the lovers.

'I'll soon put an end to this,' she said, clenching her hands in jealous
rage. She went away and performed spells, and, by her wicked arts, she
summoned the image of the Prince before her, so that his life went out
of his body, and he remained in the Princess's arms like one dead.

Terrified and distracted with grief, the Princess carried the lifeless
body of her lover into the palace and laid it on a couch in her own
apartment. There, exhausted with the effort, she fell upon it, weeping
bitterly. She called his name, but he did not answer. His ears were
deaf, his eyes were closed, his pale lips did not respond to her kisses.

But the Prince was not dead: he was bewitched. The Sorceress, by means
of his image, had torn his heart from his breast and had taken it far
away. Yet, all the time, that heart was still beating with life, and
with love for the Princess.

Forlorn and sorrowful the Princess sat by the couch, when suddenly she
started up with clenched hands