A faint, a very faint little rustle was heard up above in the corner where Jeanne had tried to persuade her cousin that the chickens were to be seen, and delighted at this evidence that any way they were to be heard, she turned to him triumphantly.

“That’s Houpet,” she said.  “Dear little fellow, he’s too sleepy to crow—­he just gives a little wriggle to show that he’s heard me.  Now put down the cage, Cheri—­oh, you have put it down—­and let’s run in again.  Your pet will be quite safe, you see, but if we’re not quick, Marcelline will be running out to look for us.”

She felt about for Hugh’s hand, and having got it, turned to go.  But she stopped to put her head in again for a moment at the door.

“Houpet, dear,” she said, “don’t let Dudu come into your house.  If he tries to, you must fly at him and scold him and peck him.”

“Who is Dudu?” said Hugh, as they were running back to the house together along the snowy garden path.

“He is——­” began Jeanne.  “Hush,” she went on, in a lower voice, “there he is!  I do believe he heard what I said, and he’s angry.”  For right before them on the path stood the old raven, on one leg as usual, though this it was too dark to see clearly.  And, as Jeanne spoke, he gave a sharp, sudden croak, which made both the children jump, and then deliberately hopped away.

“He’s a raven!” said Hugh with surprise.  “Why, what funny pets you have, Jeanne!”

Jeanne laughed.

“Dudu isn’t my pet,” she said.  “I don’t like him.  To tell you the truth, Cheri, I’m rather frightened of him.  I think he’s a sort of a fairy.”

Hugh looked much impressed, but not at all surprised.

“Do you really, Jeanne?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “I do.  And I’m not sure but that Grignan is too.  At least I think Grignan is enchanted, and that Dudu is the spiteful fairy that did it.  Grignan is the tortoise, you know.”

“Yes,” said Hugh, “you told me about him.  I do wonder if what you think is true,” he added reflectively.  “We must try to find out, Jeanne.”

“But we mustn’t offend Dudu,” said Jeanne.  “He might, you know, turn us into something—­two little mice, perhaps—­that wouldn’t be very nice, would it, Cheri?”

“I don’t know,” Hugh replied.  “I wouldn’t mind for a little, if he would turn us back again.  We could get into such funny places and see such funny things—­couldn’t we, Jeanne?”

They both laughed merrily at the idea, and were still laughing when they ran against Marcelline at the door which they had left open at the end of the tonnelle.

“My children!” she exclaimed.  “Monsieur Cheri and Mademoiselle Jeanne!  Where have you been?  And in the snow too!  Who would have thought it?”

Her tone was anxious, but not cross.  She hurried them in to the warm fire, however, and carefully examined their feet to make sure that their shoes and stockings were not wet.