e rejoiced, save
perhaps the three unsuccessful Princesses, who consoled themselves by
saying there was magic in it, and so possibly there was. But there is
more than one kind of magic, and some kinds, it is to be hoped, the
world will never be without. And messengers were sent to summon to the
wedding the father and mother of the Princess, who all this time had
been in doubt and anxiety as to the fate of their dear child. And the
kind old woman who had sheltered her in her poverty and distress was not
forgotten."

The voice stopped--for a minute or two the children sat silent, not
sure if they were to hear anything else. Strangely enough, as the story
went on, it seemed more and more as if it were Marcelline's voice that
was telling it, and at last Hugh looked up to see if it was still the
white lady, whose knee his head was resting on. Jeanne too looked up at
the same moment, and both children gave a little cry of surprise. The
white lady had disappeared, and it was indeed Marcelline who was in her
place. The white room, the white chairs, the white cats, the
spinning-wheel, and the pointed windows, had all gone, and instead there
was old Marcelline with her knitting-needles gently clicking in a
regular way, that somehow to Hugh seemed mixed up with his remembrance
of the soft whirr of the wheel, her neatly frilled cap round her face,
and her bright dark eyes smiling down at the children. Hugh felt so
sorry and disappointed that he shut his eyes tight and tried to go on
dreaming, if indeed dreaming it was. But it was no use. He leant his
face against Marcelline's soft white apron and tried to fancy it the
fairy lady's fairy robe; but it was no use. He had to sit up and look
about him.

"Well," said Marcelline, "and didn't you like the story?"

Hugh looked at Jeanne. It couldn't be a dream then--there _had_ been a
story, for if he had been asleep, of course he couldn't have heard it.
He said nothing, however--he waited to see what Jeanne would say. Jeanne
tossed back her head impatiently.

"Of course I liked it," she said. "It's a beautiful story. But,
Marcelline, how did you turn into yourself--_was_ it you all the time?
Why didn't you leave us with the white lady?"

Hugh was so pleased at what Jeanne said that he didn't mind a bit about
Marcelline having taken the place of the white lady. Jeanne was the same
as he was--that was all he cared about. He jumped up eagerly--they were
in Jeanne's room, close to the fi