“I think Grignan must know a great deal,” said Jeanne, “he’s so solemn.”

“So is Dudu,” said Hugh.  “By the by, Jeanne,” he went on, but stopped suddenly.

“What?” said Jeanne.

“It just came into my head while we were talking that I must have dreamt of Dudu again last night; but now I try to remember it, it has all gone out of my head.”

“What a pity,” said Jeanne; “do try to remember.  Was it that he came and stood at the foot of the bed again, like the last time?  You promised to call me if he did.”

“No, I don’t think he did.  I have more a sort of feeling that he and the peacocks on the wall were whispering to each other—­something about us—­you and me, Jeanne—­it was, I think.”

“Perhaps they were going to give a party, and were planning about inviting us,” suggested Jeanne.

“I don’t know,” said Hugh; “it’s no good my trying to think.  It’s just a sleepy feeling of having heard something.  I can’t remember anything else, and the more I think, the less I remember.”

“Well, you must be sure to tell me if you do hear anything more.  I was awake ever so long in the night, ever so long; but I didn’t mind, there was such nice moonlight.”

“Moonlight, was there?” said Hugh; “I didn’t know that.  I’ll try to keep awake to-night, because Marcelline says the figures on the walls are so pretty when it’s moonlight.”

“And if Dudu comes, or you see anything funny, you’ll promise to call me?” said Jeanne.

Hugh nodded his head.  There was not much fear of his forgetting his promise.  Jeanne reminded him of it at intervals all that day, and when the children kissed each other for good-night she whispered again, “Remember to call me, Cheri.”

Cheri went to sleep with the best possible intentions as to “remembering.”  He had, first of all, intended not to go to sleep at all, for his last glance out of the window before going to bed showed him Monsieur Dudu on the terrace path, enjoying the moonlight apparently, but, Hugh strongly suspected, bent on mischief, for his head was very much on one side and his claw very much stuck out, in the way which Jeanne declared made him look like a very impish raven indeed.

“I wonder what Marcelline meant about the moonlight,” thought Hugh to himself as he lay down.  “I hardly see the figures on the wall at all.  The moon must be going behind a cloud.  I wonder if it will be brighter in the middle of the night.  I don’t see that I need stay awake all the night to see.  I can easily wake again.  I’ll just take a little sleep first.”

And the little sleep turned out such a long one, that when poor Hugh opened his eyes, lo and behold! it was to-morrow morning—­there was Marcelline standing beside the bed, telling him it was time to get up, he would be late for his tutor if he did not dress himself at once.

“Oh dear,” exclaimed Hugh, “what a pity!  I meant to stay awake all night to watch the moonlight.”