"Thank you," she said. "I can't dance very well, but perhaps you won't mind."
The king, if that was his title, took not the slightest notice of her reply, but nodded again—once, then two or three times together, then once alone, just as before. Griselda did not know what to do, when suddenly she felt something poking her head. It was the cuckoo—he had lifted his claw, and was tapping her head to make her nod. So she nodded—once, twice together, then once—that appeared to be enough. The king nodded once again; an invisible band suddenly struck up the loveliest music, and off they set to the places of honour reserved for them in the centre of the room, where all the mandarins were assembling. What a dance that was! It began like a minuet and ended something like the hay-makers.
Griselda had not the least idea what the figures or steps were, but it did not matter. If she did not know, her shoes or something about her did; for
