So the fair maiden put the bed outside the door and herself lay on the bedstead.
She awoke in the morning, and again in the entire house there was not a single soul to be seen. And it all went well with her: whatever she wished for appeared on the spot.
In the evening the snake flew to her and ordered, "Now, fair maiden, put my bed next to your bedstead."
She then laid it next to her bedstead, and the night went by, and the maiden awoke, and again there was never a soul in the palace.
And for the third time the snake came in the evening and said, "Now, fair maiden, I am going to lie with you in the bedstead."
The merchant's daughter was fearfully afraid of lying on a single bed with such a formless monster. But she could not help herself, so she strengthened her heart and lay down with him.
In the morning the serpent said to her, "If you are now weary, fair maiden, go to your father and your sisters: spend a day with them, and in the evening come back to me. But see to it that you are not late. If you are one single minute late I shall die of grief."
"No, I shall not be late," said the maiden, the merchant's daughter, and descended the steps; there was a barouche ready for her, and she sat down. That very instant she arrived at her father's courtyard.
Then the father saw, welcomed, kissed her, and asked her, "How has God been dealing with you, my beloved daughter? Has it been well with you?"
"Very well, father!" And she started telling of all the wealth there was in the palace, how the snake loved her, how whatever she only thought of was in that instant fulfilled.
The sisters heard, and did not know what to do out of sheer envy.
