Olga looked down and found herself enveloped in a robe of such delicate texture that it seemed soft as a rose leaf, and as airy as the pink clouds that sometimes float across the sunset.

The water-lilies in her hair had become a coronal of opals.
"When she entered the great ballroom, the prince of the castle started up from his throne in amazement.

Never before had he seen such a vision of loveliness.

'Surely,' said he, 'some rose of Paradise hath found a soul and drifted earthward to blossom here.' And all that night he had eyes for none but her.
"The next night Olga started again to the castle in her dress of tow, and at the gate she grasped the second bead in her fingers, repeating the charm.

This time the pale yellow of the daffodils seemed to have woven itself into a cloth of gold for her adorning.