se, but
he's the most of a pet of all. He lives in the chicken-house with the
two other little chickens. O Cheri," she added, glancing round, and
seeing that Marcelline had left the room, "do let us run out and peep at
Houpet for a minute. We can go through the tonnelle, and the chickens'
house is close by."

She darted off as she spoke, and Hugh, nothing loth, his precious Nibble
still in his arms, followed her. They ran down the long corridor, on to
which opened both the tapestry room and Jeanne's room at the other end,
through a small sort of anteroom, and then--for though they were
_upstairs_, the garden being built in terraces was at this part of the
house on a level with the first floor--then straight out into what
little Jeanne called "the tonnelle."

Hugh stood still and gazed about him with delight and astonishment.

"O Jeanne," he exclaimed, "how pretty it is! oh, how very pretty!"

Jeanne stopped short in her progress along the tonnelle.

"What's pretty?" she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Do you mean the
garden with the snow?"

"No, no, that's pretty too, but I mean the trees. Look up, Jeanne, do."

There was no moonlight, but the light from the windows streamed out to
where the children stood, and shone upon the beautiful icicles on the
branches above their heads. For the tonnelle was a kind of arbour--a
long covered passage made by trees at each side, whose boughs had been
trained to meet and interlace overhead. And now, with their fairy
tracery of snow and frost, the effect of the numberless little branches
forming a sparkling roof was pretty and fanciful in the extreme. Jeanne
looked up as she was told.

"Yes," she said, "it's pretty. If it was moonlight it would be prettier
still, for then we could see right along the tonnelle to the end."

"I don't think that _would_ be prettier," said Hugh; "the dark at the
end makes it look so nice--like as if it was a fairy door into some
queer place--a magic cavern, or some place like that."

"So it does," said Jeanne. "What nice fancies you have, Cheri! But I
wish you could see the tonnelle in summer. It _is_ pretty then, with all
the leaves on. But we must run quick, or else Marcelline will be calling
us before we have got to the chicken-house."

Off she set again, and Hugh after her, though not so fast, for Jeanne
knew every step of the way, and poor Hugh had never been in the garden
before. It was not very far to go, however--the chickens' house wa