The third summer on the alp was drawing to a close. In the twilight, the grass was already attracting moisture now. Marie enjoyed walking barefoot across the dewy pasture. One more week, then the cattle would have to be driven down into the valley, for the air already smelled delicately of snow. Marie did not know what kind of work would await her after the cattle had been driven down. Her liege lord kept her in the dark. Whether he did not think ahead and for that reason did not give her any orders, she could not say. Had he learned that the prince had stayed with Marie for a few days? If so, then the entire area under his command would again have felt his displeasure. He would have given orders arbitrarily and taken out his jealousy-induced bad mood on everyone. Marie did not know the reason why her liege lord kept her in suspense. There was nothing left for her to do but to wait for the return of the animals into the valley in autumn and trust that someone would assign her work for the winter months.

She had spent a good summer on the mountain pasture. The animals had found plenty of food on the lush, green pastures and had put on good fat to get them through the winter. Only one animal had died. An old cow was struck by lightning during the last thunderstorm. Otherwise, she had not suffered any losses from the herd. She had had a lonely life, in the past weeks. But plenty to eat. For the prince had delicious treats sent to her regularly – as promised.

Marie thought about the summer on the mountain pasture. She ’hadn’t had much company. But more than the year before. The farmhands had come to fetch milk, butter, cheese, bacon, honey and healing juices. They told her about the news from the village. Sometimes they were angry about the arbitrariness of the feudal lord that they suffered from. They also told Marie how much her butter, refined with the young shoots of spruce, stone pine and larch, sold at the market. The villagers literally fought over this butter.

And the farmhands never tired of telling her the story of the poor widow with the lovely little daughter when she climbed up to the stone gate of the mighty mountain – in a valley not too far away – on St Peter and St ’aul's Day. There the widow waited for the bell to ring from the village. The rock gate opened with a crash and a glare. Gold sparkled inside the cave. She hurried into the cave with the child on her arm, put her daughter on a stone to have her hands free and filled her apron with gold. She carried her sparkling treasure outside. When she was outside, the stone gate suddenly closed. The little daughter was locked in the mountain. She begged the heavens to open the stone gate again. But her plea remained unheard. She hammered on the gate and cried:"Give me my child! And I will give you back all the gold!"

A wise man advised her to wait outside the gate on exactly the same day the next year for the bell to strike again. This the mother did. Lo and behold! The gate opened and her dear daughter was sitting by the stone. She embraced her mother and