te
started when the door again opened, and Marcelline's voice told her that
her mother wanted her to go down to the salon, she had something to say
to her.

"O Marcelline," said Jeanne, rubbing her eyes, "I didn't know you had
gone away. What does mamma want? O Marcelline, I am so sleepy, I would
like to go to bed."

"To go to bed, Mademoiselle, and not yet five o'clock! Oh no, you will
wake up nicely by the time you get down to the salon."

"I am so tired, Marcelline," persisted Jeanne. "These winter days it is
so dull. I don't mind in summer, for then I can play in the garden with
Dudu and the tortoise, and all the creatures. But in winter it is so
dull. I would not be tired if I had a little friend to play with me."

"Keep up your heart, Mademoiselle. Stranger things have happened than
that you should have some one to play with."

"What do you mean, Marcelline?" said Jeanne, curiously. "Do you know
something, Marcelline? Tell me, do. Did you know what my wish was?" she
added, eagerly.

"I know, Mademoiselle, that Madame will be waiting for you in the
salon. We can talk about your wish later; when I am putting you to bed."

She would say no more, but smoothed Jeanne's soft dark hair, never very
untidy it must be owned, for it was always neatly plaited in two tails
that hung down her back, as was then the fashion for little girls of
Jeanne's age and country, and bade her again not to delay going
downstairs.

Jeanne set off. In that great rambling old house it was really quite a
journey from her room to her mother's salon. There was the long corridor
to pass, at one end of which were Jeanne's quarters, at the other a room
which had had for her since her babyhood a mingled fascination and awe.
It was hung with tapestry, very old, and in some parts faded, but still
distinct. As Jeanne passed by the door of this room, she noticed that it
was open, and the gleam of the faint moonlight on the snow-covered
garden outside attracted her.

"I can see the terrace ever so much better from the tapestry room
window," she said to herself. "I wonder what Dudu is doing, poor old
fellow. Oh, how cold he must be! I suppose Grignan is asleep in a hole
in the hedge, and the chickens will be all right any way. I have not
seen Houpet all day."

"Houpet" was Jeanne's favourite of the three chickens. He had come by
his name on account of a wonderful tuft of feathers on the top of his
head, which stuck straight up and then waved do