'Those are my lady's
bees,' he went on. I had heard that bees gather honey from the
flowers. 'But where are the flowers for them?' I asked. 'My
lady's bees gather their honey from the sun and the stars,' said
the little man. 'Do let me see them,' I said.
'No. I daren't do that,' he answered. 'I have no business with
them. I don't understand them. Besides, they are so bright that
if one were to fly into your eye, it would blind you
altogether.' 'Then you have seen them?' 'Oh, yes! Once or twice,
I think. But I don't quite know: they are so very bright -- like
buttons of lightning. Now I've showed you all I can to-night,
and we'll go back to the room.' I followed him, and he made me
sit down under a lamp that hung from the roof, and gave me some
bread and honey.
"The lady had never moved. She sat with her forehead
leaning on her hand, gazing out of the little window, hung like
the rest with white cloudy curtains. From where I was sitting I
looked out of it too, but I could see nothing. Her face was very
beautiful, and very white, and very still, and her hand was as
white as the forehead that leaned on it. I did not see her whole
face -- only the side of it, for she never moved to turn it full
upon me, or even to look at me.
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