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Updated: June 4, 2025
She saw, as the lovely young stranger threw back her gray silk traveling-cloak, a slim, beautiful creature, with golden hair, round, dimpled face, flushed cheeks and lips, and the brightest of blue, sparkling eyes a girl who looked like some dazzling picture painted by some old master, and who had just stepped out of a gilded frame.
Rubbish as it was, it was left in the place where she sat, and might be something belonging to her his dear, kind godmother, whom already he loved with all his lonely, tender, passionate heart. It was, though he did not know this, his wonderful traveling-cloak. And what of the traveling-cloak? What sort of cloak was it, and what A good did it do the Prince? Stay, and I'll tell you all about it.
But the good he had done there lasted for years and years; he was long missed and deeply mourned at least, so far as anybody could mourn one who was gone on such a happy journey. Whither he went, or who went with him, it is impossible to say. But I myself believe that his godmother took him on his traveling-cloak to the Beautiful Mountains. What he did there, or where he is now, who can tell?
He did not like to vex her by calling for her and telling her how unhappy he was, in spite of all her goodness; so he just kept his trouble to himself, went back to his lonely tower, and spent three days in silent melancholy, without even attempting another journey on his traveling-cloak.
Now he understood what his godmother had meant when she gave him his traveling-cloak, and why he had heard that sigh he was sure it was hers when he had asked to see "just one little boy."
Such were the shouts which traveled up to the traveling-cloak. And then began oh, what a scene! When you children are grown men and women or before you will hear and read in books about what are called revolutions earnestly I trust that neither I nor you may ever see one.
Though he seldom played with them now, he liked just to feel they were there. They were all gone and with them the traveling-cloak. He sat down on the floor, looking at the empty shelves, so beautifully clean and tidy, then burst out sobbing as if his heart would break. But quietly always quietly. He never let his nurse hear him cry. She only laughed at him, as he felt she would laugh now.
With another cheerful tap of her beak, Mistress Mag shut down the little door in the tiles, and Prince Dolor's first and last sight of his uncle was ended. He sat in the center of his traveling-cloak, silent and thoughtful. "What shall we do now?" said the magpie. "There's nothing much more to be done with his majesty, except a fine funeral, which I shall certainly go and see. All the world will.
Henri went down to his cabinet, where, at the news of his return, a number of gentlemen had assembled, who were looking at St. Luc with evident distrust and animosity. He, however, seemed quite unmoved by this. He had brought his wife with him also, and she was seated, wrapped in her traveling-cloak, when the king entered in an excited state. "Ah, monsieur, you here!" he cried.
He had plenty of time for thinking. After his last journey in the traveling-cloak, the journey which had given him so much pain, his desire to see the world somehow faded away. He contented himself with reading his books, and looking out of the tower windows, and listening to his beloved little lark, which had come home with him that day, and never left him again.
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