towards them smiling.--P. 121.]

Denny looked up. She saw a rather little man with a white apron and a
white cap, carrying a couple of cackling hens or chickens in his arms,
coming across the garden from the house. He was on his way to a little
sort of poultry-yard, where he had fastened up half-a-dozen live
chickens he had bought at the market that morning, meaning to kill two
of them for dinner, but finding them not so fat as he had expected, he
was putting them back among their friends for a day or two. Very like a
_real_ ogre, if Denny and Baby had understood all about it, which they
didn't. Denny herself, for a minute or two, felt puzzled as to who this
odd-looking man could be. But he was no _ogre_, that was certain, any
way.

"Don't be frightened, Baby, it's not a' ogre," she said. "Look up, he's
far too little."

Baby ventured to peep round. The little black-eyed, white-capped man
came towards them smiling.

"Bon jour, Mademoiselle, bon jour, Monsieur Bebe," he said, looking
quite pleased. And then he stroked down the ruffled feathers of the poor
chickens, and held them out to the two children, chattering away at a
great rate in Baby's "lubbish talk," hardly a word of which they
understood.

"Can he be wanting to sell the chickens?" said Denny.

The cook, who had before this lived with families from England,
understood the children's language better than they did his, which,
however, is not saying a great deal.

"Yes, Mees, pairfectly," he said. "Me sell zem at ze marche the morning.
Fine poulets, goot poulets, not yet strong--wait one, two, 'ree days--be
strong for one grand dinner for Madame."

"Who are you? What's your name, please?" said Denny, still a little
alarmed.

"Jean-Georges, Mademoiselle," said the little man, with a bow.
"Jean-Georges compose charming plates for Mademoiselle and Monsieur
Bebe. Jean-Georges loves little messieurs and little 'demoiselles.
Madame permit Monsieur and Mademoiselle visit Jean-Georges in his
cuisine one day."

Denny caught the word "cuisine," which, of course, children, you will
know means "kitchen."

"He's the cook, Baby," she said, with great relief; "don't you remember
grandfather said he must have a man cook? Good morning, Mr. Cook, we'll
ask mother to let us go and see you one day in your kitchen, and you
must make us very nice things to eat, please Mr. Cook."

"Pairfectly, Mademoiselle," said Jean-Georges, with as magnificent a
bow as he could manag