The Tapestry Room | Page 6

almost looks like 'pig,' but it could not be a
pet pig. No, I cannot read it either; we must wait to see till he comes."
* * * * *
As Marcelline was preparing to put Jeanne to bed that night, the little
girl suddenly put her arms round her nurse's neck, and drew down her
old face till it was on a level with her own.
"Look in my face, Marcelline," she said. "Now look in my face and
confess. Now, didn't you know that mamma had got a letter to-night
and what it said, and was not that how you knew my wish would come
true?"
Marcelline smiled.
"That was one way I knew, Mademoiselle," she said.
"Well, it shows I'm right not to believe in fairies any way. I really did
think at first that the fairies had told you something, but----" suddenly
she stopped as the remembrance of her adventure in the tapestry room
returned to her mind. "Dudu may be a fairy, whether Marcelline has
anything to do with fairies or not," she reflected. It was better certainly
to approach such subjects respectfully. "Marcelline," she added, after a
little silence, "there is only one thing I don't like. I wish the little cousin
were not going to sleep in the tapestry room."
"Not in the tapestry room, Mademoiselle?" exclaimed Marcelline, "why,
it is the best room in the house! You, who are so fond of stories,
Mademoiselle--why there are stories without end on the walls of the
tapestry room; particularly on a moonlight night."
"Are there?" said Jeanne. "I wonder then if the little cousin will be able
to find them out. If he does he must tell them to me. Are they fairy

stories, Marcelline?"
But old Marcelline only smiled.
CHAPTER II.
PRINCE CHÉRI.
"I'll take my guinea-pig always to church." CHILD WORLD.
If it were cold just then in the thick-walled, well-warmed old house,
which was Jeanne's home, you may fancy how cold it was in the
rumbling diligence, which in those days was the only way of travelling
in France. And for a little boy whose experience of long journeys was
small, this one was really rather trying. But Jeanne's cousin Hugh was a
very patient little boy. His life, since his parents' death, had not been a
very happy one, and he had learnt to bear troubles without complaining.
And now that he was on his way to the kind cousins his mother had so
often told him of, the cousins who had been so kind to her, before she
had any home of her own, his heart was so full of happiness that, even
if the journey had been twice as cold and uncomfortable, he would not
have thought himself to be pitied.
It was a pale little face, however, which looked out of the diligence
window at the different places where it stopped, and a rather timid
voice which asked in the pretty broken French he had not quite
forgotten since the days that his mother taught him her own language,
for a little milk for his "pet." The pet, which had travelled on his knees
all the way from England--comfortably nestled up in hay and cotton
wool in its cage, which looked something like a big mouse-trap--much
better off in its way certainly than its poor little master. But it was a
great comfort to him: the sight of its funny little nose poking out
between the bars of its cage made Hugh feel ever so much less lonely,
and when he had secured a little milk for his guinea-pig he did not
seem to mind half so much about anything for himself.
Still it was a long and weary journey, and poor Hugh felt very glad
when he was wakened up from the uncomfortable dose, which was all

in the way of sleep he could manage, to be told that at last they had
arrived. This was the town where his friends lived, and a "monsieur,"
the conductor added, was inquiring for him--Jeanne's father's valet it
was, who had been sent to meet him and take him safe to the old house,
where an eager little heart was counting the minutes till he came.
They looked at each other curiously when at last they met. Jeanne's
eyes were sparkling and her cheeks burning, and her whole little person
in a flutter of joyful excitement, and yet she couldn't speak. Now that
the little cousin was there, actually standing before her, she could not
speak. How was it? He was not quite what she had expected; he looked
paler and quieter than any boys she had seen, and--was he not glad to
see her?--glad to have come?--she asked herself with a little misgiving.
She looked at him again--his blue