Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and sadly opened the door, and showed herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart would break.
“How now, my little lady!” cried Midas. “Pray what is the matter with you this bright morning?”
Marygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her hand in which was one of the roses which Midas had so recently changed.
“Beautiful!” exclaimed her father. “And what is there in this magnificent golden rose to make you cry?”
“Ah, dear father!” answered the child, as well as her sobs would let her, “it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As soon as I was dressed, I ran into the garden to gather some roses for you, because I know you like them, and like them the better when gathered by your little daughter. But, O dear, dear me! What do you think has happened? All the beautiful roses, that smelled so sweet and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted and spoiled! They are grown quite yellow, as you see this one, and have no longer any fragrance! What can have been the matter?”
“啊，亲爱的父亲！”孩子啜泣着答道，“它并不美丽，而是有史以来最丑的花！我一穿好衣服，就跑到花园里去摘玫瑰花给你，因为我知道你喜欢它们，而且我摘的时候，你会更喜欢它们。可是，哎呀，哎呀!你知道发生了什么事? 所有美丽的玫瑰，闻起来那么香，有那么多可爱的红晕，都枯萎了，糟蹋了! 正如你所看到的，它们已经长得很黄了，不再有香味了！出了什么事？”
“Pooh, my dear little girl, pray don’t cry about it!” said Midas, who was ashamed to confess that he himself had brought about the change which so greatly troubled her. “Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will find it easy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will last hundreds of years) for an ordinary one, which would wither in a day.”