eak the whole conduit of his life will run out. The
King has indeed issued a proclamation with great promises to whoever
cures his son; but it is all labour lost, and the best he can do is
quickly to get ready mourning and prepare the funeral."

When Nella heard the cause of the Prince's illness she sobbed and wept
bitterly and said to herself, "Who is the wicked soul who has broken
the passage and caused so much sorrow?" But as the ogress now went on
speaking Nella was as silent as a mouse and listened.

"And is it possible," said the ogress, "that the world is lost to this
poor Prince, and that no remedy can be found for his malady?"

"Hark-ye, Granny," replied the ogre, "the doctors are not called upon
to find remedies that may pass the bounds of nature. This is not a
fever that will yield to medicine and diet, much less are these
ordinary wounds which require lint and oil; for the charm that was on
the broken glass produces the same effect as onion juice does on the
iron heads of arrows, which makes the wound incurable. There is one
thing only that could save his life, but don't ask me to tell it to
you, for it is a thing of importance."

"Do tell me, dear old Long-tusk," cried the ogress; "tell me, if you
would not see me die."

"Well then," said the ogre, "I will tell you provided you promise me
not to confide it to any living soul, for it would be the ruin of our
house and the destruction of our lives."

"Fear nothing, my dear, sweet little husband," replied the ogress; "for
you shall sooner see pigs with horns, apes with tails, moles with eyes,
than a single word shall pass my lips." And so saying, she put one hand
upon the other and swore to it.

"You must know then," said the ogre, "that there is nothing under the
sky nor above the ground that can save the Prince from the snares of
death, but our fat. If his wounds are anointed with this his soul will
be arrested which is just at the point of leaving the dwelling of his
body."

Nella, who overheard all that passed, gave time to Time to let them
finish their chat; and then, getting down from the tree and taking
heart, she knocked at the ogre's door crying, "Ah! my good masters, I
pray you for charity, alms, some sign of compassion. Have a little pity
on a poor, miserable, wretched creature who is banished by fate far
from her own country and deprived of all human aid, who has been
overtaken by night in this wood and is dying of cold and hunger." And
c