“I’ll ask him if I get a chance,” said Hugh.  “Good morning, Monsieur Dudu,” he went on, bowing politely from the window to the raven, who had cocked his head in another direction, and seemed now to be looking up at the two children with the same supercilious stare he had bestowed upon the cock and hens.  “Good morning, Monsieur Dudu; I hope you won’t catch cold with this snowy weather.  It’s best to be very polite to him, you see,” added Hugh, turning to Jeanne; “for if he took offence we should get no fun out of him.”

“Oh yes,” said Jeanne, “it is much best to be very polite to him.  Look at him now, Cheri; doesn’t he look as if he knew what we were saying?”

For Dudu was eyeing them unmistakably by this time, his head more on one side than ever, and his lame leg stuck out in the air like a walking-stick.

“That’s just how he stood at the foot of the bed, on the wood part, you know,” said Hugh, in a whisper.

“And weren’t you frightened, Cheri?” said Jeanne.  “I always think Dudu looks not at all like a good fairy, when he cocks his head on one side and sticks his claw out like that.  I quite believe then that he’s a wicked enchanter.  O Cheri,” she went on, catching hold of Hugh, “what should we do if he was to turn us into two little frogs or toads?”

“We should have to live in the water, and eat nasty little worms and flies, I suppose,” said Hugh gravely.

“And that sort of thick green stuff that grows at the top of dirty ponds; fancy having that for soup,” said Jeanne pathetically.  “O Cheri, we must indeed be very polite to Dudu, and take great pains not to offend him; and if he comes to you in the night, you must be sure to call me at once.”

But the following night and several nights after that went by, and nothing was heard or seen of Monsieur Dudu.  The weather got a little milder; that is to say, the snow gradually melted away, and the children were allowed to go out into the garden and visit their pets.  Nibble seemed quite at home in his new quarters, and was now permitted to run about the chicken-house at his own sweet will; and Jeanne greatly commended Houpet for his kindness to the little stranger, which commendation the chicken received in very good part, particularly when it took the shape of all the tit-bits left on the children’s plates.

“See how tame he is,” said Jeanne one day when she had persuaded the little cock to peck some crumbs out of her hand; “isn’t he a darling, Cheri, with his dear little tuft of feathers on the top of his head?”

“He’s awfully funny-looking,” said Hugh, consideringly; “do you really think he’s very pretty, Jeanne?”

“Of course I do,” said Jeanne, indignantly; “all my pets are pretty, but Houpet’s the prettiest of all.”

“He’s prettier than Grignan, certainly,” said Hugh, giving an amiable little push to the tortoise, who happened to be lying at his feet; “but I like Grignan, he’s so comical.”