As soon as Beauty was alone she hastened to fill the boxes with all the rare and precious things she saw about her, and only when she was tired of heaping things into them did they seem to be full.

Then she went to bed, but could hardly sleep for joy. And when at last she did begin to dream of her beloved Prince she was grieved to see him stretched upon a grassy bank sad and weary, and hardly like himself.

‘What is the matter?’ she cried.

But he looked at her reproachfully, and said:

‘How can you ask me, cruel one? Are you not leaving me to my death perhaps?’

‘Ah! don’t be so sorrowful,’ cried Beauty; ‘I am only going to assure my father that I am safe and happy. I have promised the Beast faithfully that I will come back, and he would die of grief if I did not keep my word!’

‘What would that matter to you?’ said the Prince. ‘Surely you would not care?’

‘Indeed I should be ungrateful if I did not care for such a kind Beast,’ cried Beauty indignantly. ‘I would die to save him from pain. I assure you it is not his fault that he is so ugly.’