ng I possess. But you shall atone
for your fault: you shall die in a quarter of an hour."

The merchant fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands, said, "Sir, I
humbly beg your pardon. I did not think it would offend you to gather
a rose for one of my daughters, who had entreated me to bring her one
home. Do not kill me, my lord!"

"I am not a lord, but a beast," replied the monster; "I hate false
compliments, so do not fancy that you can coax me by any such ways.
You tell me that you have daughters; now I will suffer you to escape
if one of them will come and die in your stead. If not, promise that
you will yourself return in three months, to be dealt with as I may
choose."

The tender-hearted merchant had no thoughts of letting any one of his
daughters die for his sake; but he knew that if he seemed to accept
the beast's terms, he should at least have the pleasure of seeing them
once again. So he gave his promise, and was told he might set off as
soon as he liked. "But," said the beast, "I do not wish you to go back
empty-handed. Go to the room you slept in, and you will find a chest
there; fill it with whatsoever you like best, and I will have it taken
to your own house for you."

When the beast had said this he went away. The good merchant, left to
himself, began to consider that as he must die--for he had no thought
of breaking a promise, made even to a beast--he might as well have the
comfort of leaving his children provided for. He returned to the room
he had slept in, and found there heaps of gold pieces lying about. He
filled the chest with them to the very brim, locked it, and, mounting
his horse, left the palace as sorrowful as he had been glad when he
first beheld it. The horse took a path across the forest of his own
accord, and in a few hours they reached the merchant's house. His
children came running round him, but, instead of kissing them with
joy, he could not help weeping as he looked at them. He held in his
hand the bunch of roses, which he gave to Beauty, saying, "Take these
roses, Beauty; but little do you think how dear they have cost your
poor father." And then he gave them an account of all that he had
seen or heard in the palace of the beast.

The two eldest sisters now began to shed tears, and to lay the blame
upon Beauty, who, they said, would be the cause of her father's death.
"See," said they, "what happens from the pride of the little wretch;
why did not she ask for such things as