Hugh “looked” with all his eyes.  What Jeanne called “changing” was a very wonderful process.  The trees, which hitherto had been of a very bright, delicate green, began gradually to pale in colour, becoming first greenish-yellow, then canary colour, then down to the purest white.  And from white they grew into silver, sparkling like innumerable diamonds, and then slowly altered into a sort of silver-grey, gradually rising into grey-blue, then into a more purple-blue, till they reached the richest corn-flower shade.  Then began another series of lessening shades, which again, passing through a boundary line of gold, rose by indescribable degrees to deep yet brilliant crimson.  It would be impossible to name all the variations through which they passed.  I use the names of the colours and shades which are familiar to you, children, but the very naming any shade gives an unfair idea of the marvellous delicacy with which one tint melted into another,—­as well try to divide and mark off the hues of a dove’s breast, or of the sky at sunset.  And all the time the trees themselves were of the same form and foliage as at first, the leaves—­or fronds I feel inclined to call them, for they were more like very, very delicate ferns or ferny grass than leaves—­with which each branch was luxuriantly clothed, seeming to bathe themselves in each new colour as the petals of a flower welcome a flood of brilliant sunshine.

“Oh, how pretty!” said Hugh, with a deep sigh of pleasure.  “It is like the lamps, only much prettier.  I think, Jeanne, this must be the country of pretty colours.”

“This forest is called the Forest of the Rainbows.  I know that,” said Jeanne.  “But I don’t think they call this the country of pretty colours, Cheri.  You see it is the country of so many pretty things.  If we lived in it always, we should never see the end of the beautiful things there are.  Only——­”

“Only what?” asked Hugh.

“I don’t think it would be a good plan to live in it always.  Just sometimes is best, I think.  Either the things wouldn’t be so pretty, or our eyes wouldn’t see them so well after a while.  But see, Cheri, the trees are growing common-coloured again, and Houpet is stopping.  We must have got to the end of the Forest of the Rainbows.”

“And where shall we be going to now?” asked Hugh.  “Must we get out, do you think, Jeanne?  Oh, listen, I hear the sound of water!  Do you hear it, Jeanne?  There must be a river near here.  I wish the moonlight was a little brighter.  Now that the trees don’t shine, it seems quite dull.  But oh, how plainly I hear the water.  Listen, Jeanne, don’t you hear it too?”

“Yes,” said Jeanne.  “It must be——­” but before she had time to say more they suddenly came out of the enchanted forest; in an instant every trace of the feathery trees had disappeared.  Houpet pulled up his steeds, the two chickens got down from behind, and stood one on each side of the carriage door, waiting apparently for their master and mistress to descend.  And plainer and nearer than before came the sound of fast-rushing water.