The Tapestry Room | Page 3

in the castle by the sea! I like stories
about princesses best of all. I do wish I were a princess; next to my best
wish of all, I wish to be a princess. Marcelline, do you hear? I want you
to tell me a story."
Still Marcelline did not reply. She in her turn was looking into the fire.
Suddenly she spoke.
"One, two, three," she said. "Quick, now, Mademoiselle, quick, quick.
Wish a wish before that last spark is gone. Quick, Mademoiselle."
"Oh dear, what shall I wish?" exclaimed Jeanne. "When you tell me to
be quick it all goes out of my head; but I know now. I wish----"
"Hush, Mademoiselle," said Marcelline, quickly again. "You must not
say it aloud. Never mind, it is all right. You have wished it before the
spark is gone. It will come true, Mademoiselle."
Jeanne's bright dark eyes glanced up at Marcelline with an expression
of mingled curiosity and respect.
"How do you know it will come true?" she said.
Marcelline's old eyes, nearly as bright and dark still as Jeanne's own,
had a half-mischievous look in them as she replied, solemnly shaking
her head,
"I know, Mademoiselle, and that is all I can say. And when the time
comes for your wish to be granted, you will see if I am not right."
"Shall I?" said Jeanne, half impressed, half rebellious. "Do the fairies
tell you things, Marcelline? Not that I believe there are any fairies--not
now, any way."
"Don't say that, Mademoiselle," said Marcelline. "In that country I have

told you of no one ever said such a thing as that."
"Why didn't they? Did they really see fairies there?" asked Jeanne,
lowering her voice a little.
"Perhaps," said Marcelline; but that was all she would say, and Jeanne
couldn't get her to tell her any fairy stories, and had to content herself
with making them for herself instead out of the queer shapes of the
burning wood of the fire.
She was so busy with these fancies that she did not hear the stopping of
the click-click of Marcelline's knitting needles, nor did she hear the old
nurse get up from her chair and go out of the room. A few minutes
before, the facteur had rung at the great wooden gates of the
courtyard--a rather rare event, for in those days letters came only twice
a week--but this, too, little Jeanne had not heard. She must have grown
drowsy with the quiet and the heat of the fire, for she quite started when
the door again opened, and Marcelline's voice told her that her mother
wanted her to go down to the salon, she had something to say to her.
"O Marcelline," said Jeanne, rubbing her eyes, "I didn't know you had
gone away. What does mamma want? O Marcelline, I am so sleepy, I
would like to go to bed."
"To go to bed, Mademoiselle, and not yet five o'clock! Oh no, you will
wake up nicely by the time you get down to the salon."
"I am so tired, Marcelline," persisted Jeanne. "These winter days it is so
dull. I don't mind in summer, for then I can play in the garden with
Dudu and the tortoise, and all the creatures. But in winter it is so dull. I
would not be tired if I had a little friend to play with me."
"Keep up your heart, Mademoiselle. Stranger things have happened
than that you should have some one to play with."
"What do you mean, Marcelline?" said Jeanne, curiously. "Do you
know something, Marcelline? Tell me, do. Did you know what my
wish was?" she added, eagerly.

"I know, Mademoiselle, that Madame will be waiting for you in the
salon. We can talk about your wish later; when I am putting you to
bed."
She would say no more, but smoothed Jeanne's soft dark hair, never
very untidy it must be owned, for it was always neatly plaited in two
tails that hung down her back, as was then the fashion for little girls of
Jeanne's age and country, and bade her again not to delay going
downstairs.
Jeanne set off. In that great rambling old house it was really quite a
journey from her room to her mother's salon. There was the long
corridor to pass, at one end of which were Jeanne's quarters, at the
other a room which had had for her since her babyhood a mingled
fascination and awe. It was hung with tapestry, very old, and in some
parts faded, but still distinct. As Jeanne passed by the door of this room,
she noticed that it was open, and the gleam of the faint moonlight on
the snow-covered garden outside attracted her.
"I can see the terrace ever so much