300
THE NIGHTINGALE
good which lies hidden from you. The little singing-bird flies all around, to the poor fisherman’s hut, to the farmer’s cottage, to all those who are far away from you and your Court. I love your heart more than your crown, though that has about it a brightness as of something holy. Now I will sing to you again; but you must promise me one thing—’
‘Anything!’ said the Emperor, standing up in his Imperial robes, which he had himself put on, and fastening on his sword richly embossed with gold.
‘One thing I beg of you! Don’t tell anyone that you have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be much better not to!’ Then the Nightingale flew away.
The servants came in to look at their dead Emperor.
The Emperor said, ‘Good-morning!’
