“Yes,” said Hugh, “very.  But whom do you mean by ‘they,’ Jeanne?”

“Oh dear, dear!” exclaimed Jeanne, “what a terrible boy you are.  Do leave off asking questions, and let us have fun.  Look, there are Grignan and the little cochon quite eager to be off.  Now, do jump in—­we shall have such fun.”

Hugh got in, willingly enough, though still he would have preferred to have some explanation from Jeanne of all the strange things that were happening.

“Isn’t it nice?” said Jeanne, when they had both nestled down among the delicious soft cushions of the carriage.

“Yes,” said Hugh, “it’s very nice now, but it wasn’t very nice when I was all alone in the dark in that long passage.  As you seem to know all about everything, Jeanne, I suppose you know about that.”

He spoke rather, just a very little, grumpily, but Jeanne, rather to his surprise, did not laugh at him this time.  Instead, she looked up in his face earnestly, with a strange deep look in her eyes.

“I think very often we have to find our way in the dark,” she said dreamily.  “I think I remember about that.  But,” she went on, with a complete change of voice, her eyes dancing merrily as if they had never looked grave in their life, “it’s not dark now, Cheri, and it’s going to be ever so bright.  Just look at the lovely moon through the trees.  Do let us go now.  Gee-up, gee-up, crack your whip, Houpet, and make them gallop as fast as you can.”

Off they set—­they went nice and fast certainly, but not so fast but that the children could admire the beautiful feathery foliage as they passed.  They drove through the forest—­for the trees that Hugh had so admired were those of a forest—­on and on, swiftly but yet smoothly; never in his life had Hugh felt any motion so delightful.

“What a good coachman Houpet is!” exclaimed Hugh.  “I never should have thought he could drive so well.  How does he know the road, Jeanne?”

“There isn’t any road, so he doesn’t need to know it,” said Jeanne.  “Look before you, Cheri.  You see there is no road.  It makes itself as we go, so we can’t go wrong.”

Hugh looked straight before him.  It was as Jeanne had said.  The trees grew thick and close in front, only dividing—­melting away like a mist—­as the quaint little carriage approached them.

Hugh looked at them with fresh surprise.

“Are they not real trees?” he said.

“Of course they are,” said Jeanne.  “Now they’re beginning to change; that shows we are getting to the middle of the forest.  Look, look, Cheri!”