it must be so,
for in front of him the way was barred, and _quite_ close to him now
apparently, sounded the cock's shrill call. He pushed and pulled--for
some time in vain. If there were a door at this end of the passage, as
surely there must be--who would make a passage and hang it so
beautifully with lamps if it were to lead to nowhere?--it was a door of
which the handle was very difficult to find.

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Hugh, half in despair, "what shall I do?"

"Kurroo--kurroorulloo," sounded the cock's crow. "Try again," it seemed
to say, encouragingly. And at last Hugh's hand came in contact with a
little round knob, and as he touched it, all at once everything about
him was lighted up again with the same clear, lovely light coming from
the thousands of lamps down the long corridor behind him. But Hugh never
turned to look at them--what he saw in front of him was so delightful
and surprising.

The door had opened, Hugh found himself standing at the top of two or
three steps, which apparently were the back approach to the strange long
passage which he had entered from the tapestry room. Outside it was
light too, but not with the wonderful bright radiance that had streamed
out from the castle at the other side. Here it was just very soft, very
clear moonlight. There were trees before him--almost it seemed as if he
were standing at the entrance of a forest. But, strange to say, they
were not winter trees, such as he had left behind him in the garden of
Jeanne's house--bare and leafless, or if covered at all, covered only
with their Christmas dress of snow and icicles--these trees were clothed
with the loveliest foliage, fresh and green and feathery, which no
winter's storms or nipping frosts had ever come near to blight. And in
the little space between the door where Hugh stood and these wonderful
trees was drawn up, as if awaiting him, the prettiest, queerest, most
delicious little carriage that ever was seen. It was open; the cushions
with which it was lined were of rose-coloured plush--not velvet, I
think; at least if they _were_ velvet, it was of some marvellous kind
that couldn't he rubbed the wrong way, that felt exquisitely smooth and
soft whichever way you stroked it; the body of the carriage was shaped
something like a cockle-shell; you could lie back in it so beautifully
without cricking or straining your neck or shoulders in the least; and
there was just room for two. One of these two was already comfort