-which is never shown to princesses, but
only to their parents--it was carelessly left lying on the round table
in the parlour. She looked all through it, and she hated each prince
more than the one before till she came to the very end, and on the last
page of all, screwed away in a corner, was the picture of a prince who
was quite as good-looking as a prince has any call to be.

'I like _you_,' said Belinda softly. Then she read the little bit of
print underneath.

_Prince Bellamant, aged twenty-four. Wants Princess who doesn't object
to a christening curse. Nature of curse only revealed in the strictest
confidence. Good tempered. Comfortably off. Quiet habits. No relations._

'Poor dear,' said the Princess. 'I wonder what the curse is! I'm sure
_I_ shouldn't mind!'

The blue dusk of evening was deepening in the garden outside. The
Princess rang for the lamp and went to draw the curtain. There was a
rustle and a faint high squeak--and something black flopped on to the
floor and fluttered there.

'Oh--it's a bat,' cried the Princess, as the lamp came in. 'I don't like
bats.'

'Let me fetch a dust-pan and brush and sweep the nasty thing away,' said
the parlourmaid.

'No, no,' said Belinda, 'it's hurt, poor dear,' and though she hated
bats she picked it up. It was horribly cold to touch, one wing dragged
loosely. 'You can go, Jane,' said the Princess to the parlourmaid.

Then she got a big velvet-covered box that had had chocolate in it, and
put some cotton wool in it and said to the Bat--

'You poor dear, is that comfortable?' and the Bat said:

'Quite, thanks.'

'Good gracious,' said the Princess jumping. 'I didn't know bats could
talk.'

'Every one can talk,' said the Bat, 'but not every one can hear other
people talking. You have a fine ear as well as a fine heart.'

'Will your wing ever get well?' asked the Princess.

'I hope so,' said the Bat. 'But let's talk about you. Do you know why you
wear a veil every day except Sundays?'

'Doesn't everybody?' asked Belinda.

'Only here in the palace,' said the Bat, 'that's on your account.'

'But why?' asked the Princess.

'Look in the glass and you'll know.'

'But it's wicked to look in the glass except on Sundays--and besides
they're all put away,' said the Princess.

'If I were you,' said the Bat, 'I should go up into the attic where the
youngest kitchenmaid sleeps. Feel between the thatch and the wall just
above her pillow, and you'll find a litt