was so exhausted with hunger that he took up a chicken, which he devoured in two mouthfuls, and in a perfect tremor. He next drank several glasses of wine, when, taking courage, he left the hall, and crossed several suites of rooms most magnificently furnished. At last he found a very nice chamber, and, as it was now past midnight, and he was excessively tired, he closed the door and went to bed.

The merchant did not wake till ten o'clock on the following morning, when he was surprised to find a new suit of clothes instead of his own, which were spoiled. He now concluded the palace belonged to some beneficent fairy; a notion which was completely confirmed on his looking out of window, and seeing that the snow had given place to flowery arbours and the most enchanting gardens. Having returned to the great hall, where he had supped on the previous night, he saw a small table, on which stood some chocolate ready for his breakfast. When his meal was finished, he went to look after his horse, and, as he happened to pass under a bower of roses, he bethought him of Beauty's request, and plucked a bunch to take home. No sooner had he done so than he heard a frightful roar, and saw such a horrible beast stalking up to him that he was ready to faint with alarm. “You are most ungrateful,” cried the Beast, in a terrific voice. “I saved your life by admitting you into my palace, and you reward me by stealing my roses, which I love beyond everything else! You shall pay the forfeit with your life's blood.” The poor merchant threw himself on his knees before the Beast, saying: “Forgive me, my Lord, I did not know I should offend you by plucking a rose for one of my daughters, in compliance with her wishes.” “I am not a lord, but a beast,” answered the monster; “I hate flattery, and you will not come over me with any fine speeches; but, as you say you have daughters, I will forgive you, provided one of them comes willingly to die in your stead, but swear that, should they refuse, you will return in three months.” The merchant had not the most distant intention of sacrificing one of his daughters, but wishing to see his children once more before he died, he swore to return, and the Beast dismissed him, telling him he need not go empty-handed, but that, if he returned to his bed-chamber, he would find a large trunk, which he was at liberty to fill with anything he fancied in the palace, and that it would be sent after him. Somewhat comforted at the idea of leaving his children provided for, the merchant returned to his room, where he found a quantity of gold pieces; and having filled the trunk, he left the palace in a far sadder mood than he had entered it. On reaching home, he gave the roses to his daughter, saying: “Take them, Beauty: you little think how dear they have cost your poor father.” And thereupon, he related all that had befallen him. The two eldest sisters then began to rend the air with their lamentations, and to upbraid Beauty for being the cause of their father's death, because, forsooth, she didn't ask for dresses, as they did, in order to seem wiser than they; and now she had not even a tear for the mischief she had done. But Beauty replied, it were of little use to weep, for that she was quite resolved to go, and die in her father's stead. “No,” cried the three brothers, “we will go and seek this monster, and either he or we shall perish.” But the merchant assured them it was vain to attempt resisting the Beast's all-powerful will, and that it was their duty to live to protect their sisters, as it was his to sacrifice the few remaining years he could expect to enjoy. Meanwhile, the merchant, having forgotten all about the trunk, was much surprised to find it on retiring to his chamber; but he said nothing about it for the present to his eldest daughters, as he knew they would pester him to return to town.

When the day came that Beauty was to set out with her father, the two heartless sisters rubbed their eyes with an onion to appear as if they had cried a great deal, while her brothers shed real tears, as well as the father himself. The horse took the right road of his own accord, and, on reaching the palace, which was illuminated as before, he went at once into the stable, while the father and daughter entered the great hall, where two covers were laid on a table loaded with the most dainty fare. After supper they heard a tremendous noise. Beauty shuddered on seeing the Beast enter, and when he inquired whether she had come willingly, she could not help trembling as she faltered out “Yes.” “Then I am obliged for your kindness,” growled the Beast; and, turning to the father, he added: “As for you—get you gone to-morrow, and never let me see you here again. Good night, Beauty.” “Good night, Beast,” answered she, and then the monster retired. The merchant again fell to entreating his daughter to leave him, but the next morning she prevailed on him to set out; which he, perhaps, would not have done, had he not felt a faint hope that the Beast might, after all, relent. When he was gone, Beauty could not help shedding some tears; after which she proceeded to examine the various rooms of the palace, when she was surprised to find written upon one of the doors, “Beauty's Apartment.” She opened it in haste, and found a magnificently furnished room, and was much struck on seeing an extensive library, a harpsichord, and music books; for she concluded that, if she had only a day to live, such amusements would not have been provided for her. Her surprise increased, on opening one of the books, and seeing written in golden letters, “Your wishes and commands shall be obeyed: you are here the queen over everything.” “Alas!” thought she, “my wish would be to see what my poor father is now about.” No sooner had she expressed this desire in her own mind, than she saw depicted in a large looking-glass her father's arrival at home. Her sisters came out to meet him, and, in spite of their affected sorrow, it was plain enough that they rejoiced in their hearts at his returning alone. This vision disappeared a moment afterwards, and Beauty felt grateful to the Beast for complying with her wishes. At noon she found dinner ready for her; and she was treated all the while to an excellent concert, though she saw nobody. At night the Beast came, and asked leave to sup with her, which of course she could not refuse, though she trembled from head to foot. Presently he inquired whether she did not think him very ugly. “Yes,” said Beauty, “for I cannot tell a lie; but I think you very good.” The supper passed off pleasantly enough, and Beauty had half recovered from her alarm, when he suddenly asked her whether she would marry him. Though afraid of irritating him, she faltered out: “No, Beast,” when he sighed so as to shake the whole house, and saying: “Good night, Beauty,” in a sorrowful tone, left the room, much to her relief, though she could not help pitying him from her soul.

Beauty lived in this manner for three months. The Beast came to supper every night; and, by degrees, as she grew accustomed to his ugliness, she esteemed him for his many amiable qualities. The only thing that pained her was, that he never failed to ask her whether she would marry him;