For long the children gazed after it—­a spot of light seemed to linger for some time in the sky just where it had disappeared—­almost, to their fancy, as if the white swan was resting there, again to return to earth.  But it was not so.  Slowly, like the light of a dying star, the brightness faded; there was no longer a trace of the swan’s radiant flight; again a soft low breeze, like a farewell sigh, fluttered across the lake, and the children withdrew their eyes from the sky and looked at each other.

“Jeanne!” said Hugh.

“Cheri!” said Jeanne.

“What was it?  Was it not an angel, and not a swan?”

Jeanne shook her little head in perplexity.

“I don’t know,” she said.  “It was wonderful.  Did you hear all it told, Cheri?”

“Yes,” said Hugh.  “But no one could ever tell it again, Jeanne.  It is a secret for us.”

“And for the frogs,” added Jeanne.

“And for the frogs,” said Hugh.

“But,” said Jeanne, “I thought the swan was going to die. That was not dying.”

“Yes,” said the queer croaking voice of the frog, suddenly reappearing on the edge of the boat; “yes, my children,” he repeated, with a strange solemnity, “for such as the swan that is dying.  And now once more—­for you will never see me again, nor revisit this country—­once again, my children, I bid you farewell.”

He waved his hands in adieu, and hopped away.

“Cheri,” said Jeanne, after a short silence, “I feel rather sad, and a very little sleepy.  Do you think I might lie down a little—­it is not the least cold—­and take a tiny sleep?  You might go to sleep too, if you like.  I should think there will be time before we row back to the shore, only I do not know how we shall get the boat through the narrow part if the frogs have all gone.  And no doubt Houpet and the others will be wondering why we are so long.”

“We can whistle for Dudu again if we need,” said Hugh.  “He helped us very well the last time.  I too am rather sleepy, Jeanne, but still I think I had better not go quite asleep.  You lie down, and I’ll just paddle on very slowly and softly for a little, and when you wake up we’ll fix whether we should whistle or not.”

Jeanne seemed to fall asleep in a moment when she lay down.  Hugh paddled on quietly, as he had said, thinking dreamily of the queer things they had seen and heard in this nameless country inside the tapestry door.  He did not feel troubled as to how they were to get back again; he had great faith in Dudu, and felt sure it would all come right.  But gradually he too began to feel very sleepy; the dip of the oars and the sound of little Jeanne’s regular breathing seemed to keep time together in a curious way.  And at last the oars slipped from Hugh’s hold; he lay down beside Jeanne, letting the boat drift; he was so very sleepy, he could keep up no more.