The flowers pretended not
to understand and did not stir so much as a leaf, but that did not
prevent Ida from knowing what she knew. When she was in bed she lay for a long time thinking how delightful it
must be to see the flower dance in the king's castle, and said to
herself, "I wonder if my flowers have really been there." Then she fell
asleep. *       *       *       *       *

In the night she woke. She had been dreaming of the student and the
flowers and the councilor, who told her they were making game of her. All was still in the room, the night lamp was burning on the table, and
her father and mother were both asleep. "I wonder if my flowers are still lying in Sophie's bed," she thought to
herself. "How I should like to know!" She raised herself a little and
looked towards the door, which stood half open; within lay the flowers
and all her playthings. She listened, and it seemed to her that she
heard some one playing upon the piano, but quite softly, and more
sweetly than she had ever heard before. "Now all the flowers are certainly dancing," thought she. "Oh, how I
should like to see them!" but she dared not get up for fear of waking
her father and mother. "If they would only come in here!" But the
flowers did not come, and the music went on so prettily that she could
restrain herself no longer, and she crept out of her little bed, stole
softly to the door, and peeped into the room. Oh, what a pretty sight it
was! [Illustration: On the floor all the flowers danced gracefully....]

There was no night lamp in the room, still it was quite bright; the moon
shone through the window down upon the floor, and it was almost like
daylight. The hyacinths and tulips stood there in two rows. Not one was
left on the window, where stood the empty flower pots. On the floor all
the flowers danced gracefully, making all the turns, and holding each
other by their long green leaves as they twirled around. At the piano
sat a large yellow lily, which little Ida remembered to have seen in the
summer, for she recollected that the student had said, "How like she
is to Miss Laura," and how every one had laughed at the remark. But now
she really thought that the lily was very like the young lady. It had
exactly her manner of playing--bending its long yellow face, now to one
side and now to the other, and nodding its head to mark the time of the
beautiful music. A tall blue crocus now stepped forward, sprang upon the table on which
lay Ida's playthings, went straight to the doll's cradle, and drew back
the curtains. There lay the sick flowers; but they rose at once, greeted
the other flowers, and made a sign that they would like to join in the
dance. They did not look at all ill now. Suddenly a heavy noise was heard, as of something falling from the
table. Ida glanced that way and saw that it was the rod she had found on
her bed on Shrove Tuesday, and that it seemed to wish to belong to the
flowers. It was a pretty rod, for a wax figure that looked exactly like
the councilor sat upon the head of it. The rod began to dance, and the wax figure that was riding on it became
long and great, like the councilor himself, and began to exclaim, "How
can one put such stuff into a child's head?" It was very funny to see,
and little Ida could not help laughing, for the rod kept on dancing, and
the councilor had to dance too,--there was no help for it,--whether he
remained tall and big or became a little wax figure again. But the other
flowers said a good word for him, especially those that had lain in the
doll's bed, so that at last the rod left it in peace. At the same time there was a loud knocking inside the drawer where
Sophie, Ida's doll, lay with many other toys. She put out her head and
asked in great astonishment: "Is there a ball here? Why has no one told
me of it?" She sat down upon the table, expecting some of the flowers to
ask her to dance with them; but as they did not, she let herself fall
upon the floor so as to make a great noise; and then the flowers all
came crowding about to ask if she were hurt, and they were very
polite--especially those that had lain in her bed. She was not at all hurt, and the flowers thanked her for the use of her
pretty bed and took her into the middle of the room, where the moon
shone, and danced with her, while the other flowers formed a circle
around them. So now Sophie was pleased and said they might keep her bed,
for she did not mind sleeping in the drawer the least in the world. But the flowers replied: "We thank you most heartily for your kindness,
but we shall not live long enough to need it; we shall be quite dead by
to-morrow. But tell little Ida she is to bury us out in the garden near
the canary bird's grave; and then we shall wake again next summer and be
even more beautiful than we have been this year." "Oh, no, you must not die," said Sophie, kissing them as she spoke; and
then a great company of flowers came dancing in. Ida could not imagine
where they could have come from, unless from the king's garden. Two
beautiful roses led the way, wearing golden crowns; then followed
wallflowers and pinks, who bowed to all present. They brought a band of
music with them. Wild hyacinths and little white snowdrops jingled merry
bells. It was a most remarkable orchestra. Following these were an
immense number of flowers, all dancing--violets, daisies, lilies of the
valley, and others which it was a delight to see. At last all the happy flowers wished one another good night. Little Ida,
too, crept back to bed, to dream of all that she had seen. When she rose next morning she went at once to her little table to see
if her flowers were there. She drew aside the curtains of her little
bed; yes, there lay the flowers, but they were much more faded to-day
than yesterday. Sophie too was in the drawer, but she looked very
sleepy. "Do you remember what you were to say to me?" asked Ida of her. But Sophie looked quite stupid and had not a word to say. "You are not kind at all," said Ida; "and yet all the flowers let you
dance with them." Then she chose from her playthings a little pasteboard box with birds
painted on it, and in it she laid the dead flowers. "That shall be your pretty casket," said she; "and when my cousins come
to visit me, by and by, they shall help me to bury you in the garden,
in order that next summer you may grow again and be still more
beautiful." The two cousins were two merry boys, Gustave and Adolphe. Their father
had given them each a new crossbow, which they brought with them to show
to Ida. She told them of the poor flowers that were dead and were to be
buried in the garden. So the two boys walked in front, with their bows
slung across their shoulders, and little Ida followed, carrying the dead
flowers in their pretty coffin. A little grave was dug for them in the
garden. Ida first kissed the flowers and then laid them in the earth,
and Adolphe and Gustave shot with their crossbows over the grave, for
they had neither guns nor cannons.