It crept nearer and nearer, and gazed at the golden wonder of her hair, her ivory skin under which the blushes came and went as she slept, and her smiling lips.

"Ah!" sighed the rose, "if I had only a tinge of that lovely red, I should be finer than all the other roses." And as it gazed, the thought came into its mind: "Why should I not steal a little of this wondrous beauty?
Here it is of no use to anybody.

If I had it, I would delight every one who passed by with my freshness and sweetness, and people would be the better for seeing a thing so lovely." So the rose crept to the princess's feet, and climbed up over her satin gown, and twined about her neck and arms, and about her lovely golden head.

And it stole the blush from her cheek, and the crimson from her lips, and the gold from her hair.

And the princess grew pale and paler; but the rose blushed red and redder, and its golden heart made the room bright, and its sweetness filled the air.