"Ha!" she cried. "A likely story!"
"It's true," he said. "Beauty, I love you. I loved you even when I kept asking you to marry me and you kept saying no."
Beauty looked closely at him. "And I'm going to say no again," she told him. "You're not the same Beast I said yes to." She remained kneeling, but she knelt tall and straight. "There," she said, "does that make you angry?"
He knew she was testing him. Beast had always had a bad temper and she was waiting to see if he did, too. "I am Beast," he assured her. "But I've changed; I've learned to control my temper. I won't get angry. I'll just lie back down here"—he stretched himself out once more on the garden path—"and continue to die of grief." He closed his eyes and folded his hands on top of his chest.
After a few moments, Beauty leaned over him. "Is it really you, Beast?" she asked.
"It's really me."
She sighed. "Well, then," she said, resigned, "I suppose I can love you as well in this shape as in any other."
The man who had been Beast sat up and kissed both her hands, and then he kissed her lips.
"Anything for you, my love."
And they lived happily ever after, with frequent visits from both sets of parents, who all came inside the castle to see them, though Beast's mother complained frequently about his beard and about Beauty's housekeeping.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Front
ONE
TWO
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
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