Such a dismal state of affairs, especially for the pretty coquettes, who
were no more rare in this country than in others.

The queen had no compassion, being well content that her subjects should
suffer as much annoyance from the lack of a mirror as she felt at the
sight of one.

However, in a suburb of the city there lived a young girl called Jacinta,
who was a little better off than the rest, thanks to her sweetheart,
Valentin. For if someone thinks you are beautiful, and loses no chance to
tell you so, he is almost as good as a mirror.

"Tell me the truth," she would say; "what is the color of my eyes?"

"They are like dewy forget-me-nots."

"And my skin is not quite black?"

"You know that your forehead is whiter than freshly fallen snow, and your
cheeks are like blush roses."

"How about my lips?"

"Cherries are pale beside them."

"And my teeth, if you please?"

"Grains of rice are not as white."

"But my ears, should I be ashamed of them?"