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Once upon a time there lived a King who was immensely rich. He had broadlands, and sacks overflowing with gold and silver; but he did not care a bit for all hisriches, because the Queen, his wife, was dead. He shut himself up in a little roomand knocked his head against the walls for grief, until his courtiers were reallyafraid that he would hurt himself. So they hung feather-beds between the tapestryand the walls, and then he could go on knocking his head as long as it was anyconsolation to him without coming to much harm. All his subjects came to see him, and said whatever they thought would comfort him: some were grave, even gloomywith him; and some agreeable, even gay; but not one could make the leastimpression upon him. Indeed, he hardly seemed to hear what they said. At lastcame a lady who was wrapped in a black mantle, and seemed to be in the deepestgrief. She wept and sobbed until even the King's attention was attracted; and whenshe said that, far from coming to try and diminish his grief, she, who had just lost agood husband, was come to add her tears to his, since she knew what he must befeeling, the King redoubled his lamentations. Then he told the sorrowful lady longstories about the good qualities of his departed Queen, and she in her turnrecounted all the virtues of her departed husband; and this passed the time soagreeably that the King quite forgot to thump his head against the feather-beds, and the lady did not need to wipe the tears from her great blue eyes as often asbefore. By degrees they came to talking about other things in which the King tookan interest, and in a wonderfully short time the whole kingdom was astonished bythe news that the King was married again to the sorrowful lad