death, which I feel is near, would give
you pleasure, I pray you, kill me, it is all the kindness I dare hope
from you; but do not condemn me to pass a long and melancholy life apart
from my husband."

The Lioness only scoffed at her, and told her that the best thing she
could do was to dry her tears, and try to please her; that if she acted
otherwise, she would be the most miserable person in the world.

"What must I do then," replied the Queen, "to soften your heart?" "I am
fond of fly-pasties," said the Lioness. "You must find means of
procuring a sufficient number of flies to make me a large and
sweet-tasting one." "But," said the Queen, "I see no flies here, and
even were there any, it is not light enough to catch them; and if I were
to catch some, I have never in my life made pastry, so that you are
giving me orders which it is impossible for me to execute." "No matter,"
said the pitiless Lioness; "that which I wish to have, I will have."

The Queen made no reply: she thought to herself, in spite of the cruel
fairy, that she had but one life to lose, and in the condition in which
she then was, what was there to fear in death? Instead, therefore, of
going in search of flies, she sat herself down under a yew tree, and
began to weep and complain: "Ah, my dear husband, what grief will be
yours, when you go to the castle to fetch me, and find I am not there;
you will think that I am dead, or faithless, and I would rather that you
should mourn the loss of my life, than that of my love; perhaps someone
will find the remains of my chariot in the forest, and all the ornaments
which I took with me to please you; and when you see these, you will no
longer doubt that death has taken me; and how can I tell that you will
not give to another the heart's love which you have shared with me? But,
at least, I shall not have the pain of knowing this, since I am not to
return to the world." She would have continued communing thus with
herself for a long time, if she had not been interrupted by the dismal
croaking of a raven above her head. She lifted her eyes, and by the
feeble light saw a large raven with a frog in its bill, and about to
swallow it. "Although I see no help at hand for myself," she said, "I
will not let this poor frog perish if I can save it; it suffers as much
in its way, as I do in mine, although our conditions are so different,"
and picking up the first stick she could find, she made the raven drop
its prey. The