Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the promise made to his godfather.  And why had he forgotten it?  Because Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools, placed in front of their great wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; then they had thrown themselves lazily back in their chairs, and their muslin skirts had become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough to display four little feet, the lines of which showed very distinctly and clearly beneath two pretty clouds of white lace.  Jean looked at these little feet, and asked himself this question: 

“Which are the smaller?”

While he was trying to solve this problem, Bettina, all at once, said to him in a low voice: 

“Monsieur Jean!  Monsieur Jean!”

“Miss Percival?”

“Look at the Cure, he is asleep.”

“Oh! it is my fault.”

“How your fault?” asked Mrs. Scott, also in a low voice.

“Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and goes to bed very early; he told me to be sure and prevent his falling asleep; when Madame de Longueval was here he very often had a nap after dinner.  You have shown him so much kindness that he has fallen back into his old habits.”

“And he is perfectly right,” said Bettina, “do not make a noise, do not wake him.”

“You are too good, Miss Percival, but the air is getting a little fresh.”

“Ah! that is true, he might catch cold.  Stay, I will go and fetch a wrap for him.”

“I think, Miss Percival, it would be better to try and wake him skilfully, so that he should not suspect that you had seen him asleep.”

“Let me do it,” said Bettina.  “Susie, let us sing together, very softly at first, then we will raise our voices little by little, let us sing.”

“Willingly, but what shall we sing?”

“Let us sing, ‘Quelque chose d’enfantin,’ the words are suitable.”

Susie and Bettina began to sing: 

          If I had but two little wings,
          And were a little feathery bird,

Their sweet and penetrating voices had an exquisite sonority in that profound silence.  The Abbe heard nothing, did not move.  Charmed with this little concert, Jean said to himself: 

“Heaven grant that my godfather may not wake too soon!”

The voices became clearer and louder: 

          But in my sleep to you I fly,
          I’m always with you in my sleep.

Yet the Abbe did not stir.

“How he sleeps,” said Susie, “it is a crime to wake him.”

“But we must; louder, Susie, louder.”

Susie and Bettina both gave free scope to the power of their voices.

          Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids,
          So I love to wake ere break of day.

The Cure woke with a start.  After a short moment of anxiety he breathed again.  Evidently no one had noticed that he had been asleep.  He collected himself, stretched himself prudently, slowly, he was saved!