pause, and to send an ambassador to Kristopo to try to arrange matters.

So the Prince Zeprady departed for the court of Ratibouf, and on his way
he met Cornichon, who was encamped with his army just outside the gates
of Bagota. The Prince showed him the fairy's written order that for the
present peace must still be kept, and Cornichon, filled with longing to
see Toupette once more, begged to be allowed to accompany Zeprady on his
mission to Ratibouf.

By this time the genius's passion for Toupette, which had caused all
these troubles, had died out, and he willingly accepted the terms of
peace offered by Zeprady, though he informed the prince that he still
believed the fairy to be guilty of the dreadful change in the girl. To
this the prince only replied that on that point he had a witness who
could prove, better than anyone else, if it was Toupette or not, and
desired that Cornichon should be sent for.

When Toupette was told that she was to see her old lover again, her
heart leapt with joy; but soon the recollection came to her of all that
had happened, and she remembered that Cornichon would be changed as well
as she. The moment of their meeting was not all happiness, especially on
the part of Toupette, who could not forget her lost beauty, and the
genius, who was present, was at last convinced that he had not been
deceived, and went out to sign the treaty of peace, followed by his
attendants.

'Ah, Toupette: my dear Toupette!' cried Cornichon, as soon as they were
left alone; 'now that we are once more united, let our past troubles be
forgotten.'

'Our _past_ troubles!' answered she, 'and what do you call our lost
beauty and the dreadful future before us? You are looking fifty years
older than when I saw you last, and I know too well that fate has
treated me no better!'

'Ah, do not say that,' replied Cornichon, clasping her hand, 'You are
different, it is true; but every age has its graces, and surely no woman
of sixty was ever handsomer than you! If your eyes had been as bright as
of yore they would have matched badly with your faded skin. The wrinkles
which I notice on your forehead explain the increased fulness of your
cheeks, and your throat in withering is elegant in decay. Thus the
harmony shown by your features, even as they grow old, is the best proof
of their former beauty.

'Oh, monster,' cried Toupette, bursting into tears, 'is that all the
comfort you can give me?'

'But, Toupette,' answered