certain
Mademoiselle Zephyrine, a blonde with flaxen ringlets and turquoise
blue eyes, suddenly toppled over, something having no doubt upset her
equilibrium, and fell flat on her nose on the table.

"Ah!" cried Jeanne, greatly concerned, "my poor Zephyrine has fainted,"
and, rushing forward to her assistance, worse results followed. Mesdames
Lili and Josephine, two middle-aged ladies somewhat the worse for wear,
overcome by the distressing spectacle, _or_ by the sleeve of Jeanne's
dress as she leant across them, fell off their chairs too--one, like
Zephyrine, on to the table, the other on to the floor, dragging down
with her the plateful of ragout in front of her, while her friend's
sudden descent upon the table completed the general knockings over and
spillings which Zephyrine had begun.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried Jeanne; "all the chocolate ragout is spilt,
and the whipped-up egg is mixed with the orange-juice soup. Oh dear! oh
dear! and I thought we should have had the whole feast to eat up
ourselves after the dolls had had enough."

"Yes," said Hugh, "that's what comes of having stupid sticks of dolls at
your feasts. The _animals_ wouldn't have behaved like that."

But, seeing that poor Jeanne was really in tears at this unfortunate
termination of her entertainment, he left off teasing her, and having
succeeded in rescuing some remains of the good things, they sat down on
the floor together and ate them up very amicably.

"I don't think I _do_ care much for dolls," said Jeanne meditatively,
when she had munched the last crumbs of the snipped-up almonds, which
were supposed to represent some very marvellous dish. ("I like almonds
terribly--don't you, Cheri?") she added, as a parenthesis. "No, I don't
care for dolls. You are quite right about them; they _are_ stupid, and
you can't make fancies about them, because their faces always have the
same silly look. I don't know what I like playing at best. O
Marcelline!" she exclaimed, as the old nurse just then came into the
room, "O Marcelline! _do_ tell us a story; we are tired of playing."

"Does Monsieur Cheri, too, wish me tell him a story?" asked Marcelline,
looking curiously at Hugh.

"Yes, of course," said Hugh. "Why do you look at me that funny way,
Marcelline?"

"Why," said Marcelline, smiling, "I was thinking only that perhaps
Monsieur finds so many stories in the tapestry that he would no longer
care for my stupid little old tales."

Hugh did not answe