What had awakened him, and what did he see?  He could hardly have told what had awakened him but for what he now saw and heard.  A voice, a very well-known little voice, was speaking to him.  “Cheri dear,” it said, “Cheri, I have come for you.  And see what I have got for you.”  And there before him stood little Jeanne—­but Jeanne as he had never seen her before.  She seemed all glistening and shining—­her dress was of some kind of sparkling white, and round her waist was a lovely silver girdle—­her sleeves too were looped up with silver bands, and, prettiest of all, two snow-white wings were fastened to her shoulders.  She looked like a fairy queen, or like a silvery bird turned into a little girl.  And in her hand she held another pair of wings exactly like her own.

Hugh gazed at her.

“Have you been dressing up?” he said, “and in the middle of the night? oh how funny!  But O, Jeanne, how pretty you look!”

Jeanne laughed merrily.  “Come, get up quick, then,” she said, “and I’ll make you pretty too.  Only I can’t promise you a head-dress like mine, Cheri.”

She gave her head a little toss, which made Hugh look at it.  And now he noticed that on it she wore something very funny indeed, which at first, being black—­for Jeanne’s hair, you know, was black too—­had not caught his attention.  At first he thought it was some kind of black silk hood or cap, such as he had seen worn by some of the peasants in Switzerland, but looking again—­no, it was nothing of the kind—­the head-dress had a head of its own, and as Hugh stared, it cocked it pertly on one side in a way Hugh would have known again anywhere.  Yes, it was Dudu, sitting on Jeanne’s smooth little head as comfortably as if he had always been intended to serve the purpose of a bonnet.

“Dudu!” exclaimed Hugh.

“Of course,” said Jeanne.  “You didn’t suppose we could have gone without him, Cheri.”

“Gone where?” said Hugh, quite sitting up in bed by this time, but still a good deal puzzled.

“Up into the tapestry castle,” said Jeanne, “where we’ve been wishing so to go, though we had to wait for the moonlight, you know.”

The word made Hugh glance towards the window, for, for the first time he began to wonder how it was his room was so bright.  Yes, it was streaming in, in a beautiful flood, and the tapestry on the walls had taken again the lovely tints which by daylight were no longer visible.

Hugh sprang out of bed.  “Are these for me?” he said, touching the wings which Jeanne held.

“Certainly,” she replied.  “Aren’t they pretty?  Much nicer than your wall-climbers, Cheri.  I chose them.  Turn round and let me put them on.”

She slipped them over his head—­they seemed to be fastened to a band, and in a moment they had fitted themselves perfectly into their place.  They were so light that Hugh was hardly conscious of them, and yet he could move them about—­backwards and forwards, swiftly or slowly, just as he chose—­and as easily as he could move his arms.  Hugh was extremely pleased with them, but he looked at his little night-gown with sudden dismay.