It was rather queer when to-morrow morning came—­when he woke to find it had come, at least; it was rather queer to see everything looking just the same as on other to-morrow mornings.  Hugh had not time to think very much about it, for it had been Marcelline’s knock at the door that had wakened him, and she told him it was rather later than usual.  Hugh, however, was so eager to see Jeanne and talk over with her their wonderful adventures that he needed no hurrying.  But, to his surprise, when he got to Jeanne’s room, where as usual their “little breakfast” was prepared for them on the table by the fire, Jeanne was seated on her low chair, drinking her coffee in her every-day manner, not the least different from what she always was, not in any particular hurry to see him, nor, apparently, with anything particular to say.

“Well, Cheri,” she said, merrily, “you are rather late this morning.  Have you slept well?”

Hugh looked at her; there was no mischief in her face; she simply meant what she said.  In his astonishment, Hugh rubbed his eyes and then stared at her again.

“Jeanne,” he said, quite bewildered.

“Well, Cheri,” she repeated, “what is the matter?  How funny you look!” and in her turn Jeanne seemed surprised.

Hugh looked round; old Marcelline had left the room.

“Jeanne,” he said, “it is so queer to see you just the same as usual, with nothing to say about it all.”

“About all what?” said Jeanne, seemingly more and more puzzled.

“About our adventures—­the drive in the carriage, with Houpet as coachman, and the stair down to the frog’s country, and the frogs and the boat, and the concert, and O Jeanne! the song of the swan.”

Jeanne opened wide her eyes.

“Cheri!” she said, “you’ve been dreaming all these funny things.”

Hugh was so hurt and disappointed that he nearly began to cry.

“O Jeanne,” he said, “it is very unkind to say that,” and he turned away quite chilled and perplexed.

Jeanne ran after him and threw her arms round his neck.

“Cheri, Cheri,” she said, “I didn’t mean to vex you, but I don’t understand.”

Hugh looked into her dark eyes with his earnest blue ones.

“Jeanne,” he said, “don’t you remember any of it—­don’t you remember the trees changing their colours so prettily?—­don’t you remember the frogs’ banquet?”

Jeanne stared at him so earnestly that she quite frowned.

“I think—­I think,” she said, and then she stopped.  “When you say that of the trees, I think I did see rainbow colours all turning into each other.  I think, Cheri, part of me was there and part not; can there be two of me, I wonder?  But please, Cheri, don’t ask me any more.  It puzzles me so, and then perhaps I may say something to vex you.  Let us play at our day games now, Cheri, and never mind about the other things.  But if you go anywhere else like that, ask the fairies to take me too, for I always like to be with you, you know, Cheri.”