It made me doubt the princess afresh: had she medicated it?
had she enchanted it?
was she in any way working on me unlawfully?
And how was there water in the palace, and not a drop in the city?
I remembered the crushed paw of the leopardess, and sprang from the bath.
What had I been bathing in?
Again I saw the fleeing mother, again I heard the howl, again I saw the limping beast.

But what matter whence it flowed?
was not the water sweet?
Was it not very water the pitcher-plant secreted from its heart, and stored for the weary traveller?
Water came from heaven: what mattered the well where it gathered, or the spring whence it burst?
But I did not re-enter the bath.
I put on the robe of white wool, embroidered on the neck and hem, that lay ready for me, and went down the stair to the room whither my hostess had directed me.

It was round, all of alabaster, and without a single window: the light came through everywhere, a soft, pearly shimmer rather than shine.

Vague shadowy forms went flitting about over the walls and low dome, like loose rain-clouds over a grey-blue sky.
The princess stood waiting me, in a robe embroidered with argentine rings and discs, rectangles and lozenges, close together--a silver mail.

It fell unbroken from her neck and hid her feet, but its long open sleeves left her arms bare.
In the room was a table of ivory, bearing cakes and fruit, an ivory jug of milk, a crystal jug of wine of a pale rose-colour, and a white loaf.
"Here we do not kill to eat," she said; "but I think you will like what I can give you." I told her I could desire nothing better than what I saw.