# Cinderella (Evans)/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII
The Ball
That, too, was the opinion of the ushers when the carriage drew up before the palace gates. The ushers came out to ask the name of the new guest, but Cin­derella told her footmen to say that she wished her name to be kept secret. At this the ushers were puzzled and did not know what to do, so they brought the Court Chamberlain, who came out with his gold stick of office in his hand, but had to retire no wiser than he came. In his turn the Chamberlain informed the young Prince, whose curiosity was so strongly aroused that he descendedin person to see who his mysterious guest could be. As soon as he saw Cinderella he was so overcome by her ​beauty that he forgot all else, and, handing her down from the carriage, escorted her into the ballroom on his arm.
And now what a sight met Cinderella’s eyes! Many a time since the invitation to the ball had come, she had tried to picture the splendours of the scene, but the reality was even more wonderful than her dreams.
The great hall was lighted by a thousand candles set in chandeliers of cut glass that shimmered and sparkled with all the hues of the rainbow. The room was so big that one could hardly see the end of it, and the floor was
The entrance of Cinderella on the Prince’s arm made a great sensation. Everybody stopped dancing to look at her, and even the fiddlers, amazed at her beauty, forgot to play, and sat gaping in surprise. The King, old as he was, could not take his eyes off her, and was heard to say to the Queen that it was a long time since he had seen anybody so lovely.
“Will you not tell me your name, sweet lady?” whispered the Prince as he led her forward to present her to his father and mother.
But Cinderella shook her head and told him that she was under a vow, so the Prince, who was very polite and
So she was presented to the King and Queen by a name which the Prince made up for the occasion, and they were delighted with her, and spoke to her very graciously. Then the music began again, and the Prince bowed before her and asked her if he might have the honour of a dance.
​Now what would have happened to Cinderella if she had not profited by her dancing lessons at school? One never knows how soon the time may come when one will be glad of one’s accomplishments. As it was, there was no lady in the hall who could dance more gracefully than she. Her little feet, clad in their shim­mering glass slippers, tripped the measure as lightly as though they were treading on air. It was a joy to see her.
Meanwhile, all the guests were asking each other questions.
“Oh, how lovely she is!” said one. “Who can she be?”
“She must be some princess from foreign parts,” said another, “for she certainly does not belong to any of the families of the province.”
“Send a lackey down to the courtyard,” said another, “and let him look at the coat of arms on her carriage-panels. That will tell us what we want to know.”
This was done; but the carriage-panels were not ornamented with any device, so the inquisitive guests were no wiser.
Still others followed Cinderella with their eyes and took careful note of her costume. “Whoever can her dressmaker be?” they said. “Did you ever see such wonderful fit and style. I must certainly copy that dress for my next ball, although I am afraid the material must be very costly.”
And so they continued to chatter to one another, while Cinderella, though she could not help hearing some of ​their remarks, carried herself so simply and modestly that all hearts went out to her. Almost as soon as she had entered the ballroom she had caught a glimpse of her stepsisters craning their necks to gaze at her from behind the last row of the guests, and now she saw them again, sitting rather disconsolately against the wall, for nobody wanted to dance with such disagreeable-looking creatures.
​Dance succeeded dance, and the Prince never once left Cinderella’s side. He seemed to have no eyes for anybody else, and quite neglected his other guests. Half-way through the evening, Cinderella said to him:
“Tell me, Prince, who are those two ladies sitting over there in the alcove by the pillar? Poor things, they have not been asked to dance once the whole evening. I feel quite sorry for them.”
The Prince gave a careless glance at Charlotte and Euphronia, who, indeed, looked very sour and miserable. “I do not know their names,” said he, “but they are probably the daughters of one of the neighbouring squires. If you like, I will send the Master of the Ceremonies to find them partners.”
“Do so, if you please,” said Cinderella, “for I am sure that they are not enjoying themselves at all—and that is a pity when everybody should be so happy!”
“You are as good and as kind-hearted as you are beautiful,” said the Prince as he went away to give the necessary orders; but he did not say it aloud, though he was longing to tell Cinderella how much he admired her.
​In this way the two stepsisters found partners at last, and they never knew that it was to Cinderella that they owed their good fortune. Their plain faces glowed with pleasure when two noble gentlemen led them out to dance the cotillion, and though, if truth be told, they danced it very badly, they were quite unaware of it, for their partners were far too polite to show any annoyance at their clumsiness.
Presently a magnificent supper was served in the banqueting-hall of the palace.
That was a wonderful feast! Cinderella had never seen the like of it in all her life. The table was loaded with the rarest and costliest dishes. There were great boars’ heads, swimming in gravy, on silver platters, with their eyes and tusks shining like life, and lemons in their mouths. There were great joints of beef and venison, each large enough to feed a family, and pies out of which live birds flew when the crust was opened, just like the pie in the nursery rhyme. There were cakes all covered with icing and shaped like castles or ships, and stands heaped high with the most delicious fruits.
​Cinderella managed to seat herself opposite her sisters. They had not the slightest idea who she was, for they had only seen her dressed in rags, or odds and ends, with the marks of her menial toil about her. If anybody had told them that this lovely lady, the belle of the ball, was the despised Cinderslut from their own kitchen, they would never have believed it.
Cinderella went out of her way to be amiable with her sisters, and they were very proud of the attention she paid them. Many a girl, remembering their spiteful ways, would have taken advantage of her position to get her revenge, but not so Cinderella, who was good-natured and bore no malice.
“Will you not have some of these delicious citrons?” she said, when one of the servants brought her the fruit in a silver basket. And whenever any special delicacy was brought to her, she insisted upon sharing it with them.
After the banquet, dancing began again, and the Prince, who had hardly eaten a morsel, so absorbed was he in gazing at Cinderella’s beauty, renewed his attentions
She rose immediately, and making a deep curtsy of farewell, told the Prince that the time had come for her to depart. He pressed her to stay another hour, another five minutes even, but she would not, and, hastening down the stairs, jumped into the coach which was already waiting for her, and gave the word to drive away. The horses galloped like the wind, and reached the house only just in time, for just as she was entering the clock struck twelve.
Immediately the coach vanished, and nothing was to be seen but the hollow rind of a pumpkin lying on the flagstones; the coachman with the whiskers turned into a rat again, the horses became mice, and the footmen lizards. The little creatures scampered away in all direc­tions until not a tail of them was to be seen, and Cin­derella stood there at the kitchen door once again attired in her ragged clothes.