The Tapestry Room Part 13

"Here," said Dudu, "I will leave you. You can't go wrong."

He flew down from Jeanne's head as he spoke. Jeanne gave her head a little shake; she seemed not altogether sorry to be freed from her head-dress, for a head-dress with _feelings_ is a somewhat uncomfortable affair.

"I don't mind you getting off my head, Dudu," she said. "But you might take a turn on Cheri's for a change. I think it's rather shabby of you to leave us already."

Hugh looked at Jeanne in surprise. He could not understand how it was that Jeanne ventured to speak so coolly to the raven--she who in their daylight life was so frightened of him that she would hardly go near him for fear he should turn her into a mouse, or in some other way bewitch her!

"I think it's very good-natured of Monsieur Dudu to have come with us so far," he said. "We could never have got into the tapestry castle at all but for him."

"No," said Dudu, "that you certainly wouldn't." But he didn't seem offended. "Good-bye," he said, "and if you're in any trouble remember the former arrangement. Whistle three times."

"Good-bye," said Hugh and Jeanne. But as they said it, their looks met each other in astonishment--there was no Dudu there--he had already disappeared.

"What a queer way he has of going off all of a sudden," said Jeanne.

"And what are we to do now?" said Hugh.

"Go up the stairs, of course, till we find where they lead to," said Jeanne.

"It will be rather awkward with our wings," said Hugh. "The stair is so very narrow and twisting."

Jeanne made an exclamation.

"Wings!" she said. "Why, Cheri, your wings are gone!"

"And so are yours!" said Hugh.

Both the children stared at each other and turned round to look at their shoulders, as if they could hardly believe it.

"It's too bad," said Jeanne. "It's all Dudu."

"Never mind," said Hugh. "He wouldn't have taken them away if we had been going to need them again; and really, Jeanne, the more I think of it the more sure I am we could never have got up that stair with our wings on."

"Perhaps not," said Jeanne. "Any way _I_ couldn't have got up it with Dudu on my head. But let's go on, Cheri. Are you frightened? I'm not a bit."

"I'm not, either," said Hugh. "Still, it's a very queer place. I wish Dudu, or Houpet, or some of them, had come with us!"

They set off on their climb up the steep spiral staircase. So narrow it was, that going hand-in-hand was out of the question.

"It's worse than the staircase down to the frogs' country," said Jeanne.

Hugh looked at her triumphantly.

"There now, Jeanne, you _do_ remember," he said. "I believe it was just pretence your saying you thought I had dreamt it all."

"No," said Jeanne, "it wasn't. You don't understand, Cheri. I'm moonlight Jeanne, now--when we were having the dolls' feast I was daylight Jeanne. And you know it's never moonlight in the day-time."

"Well, certainly, I _don't_ understand," said Hugh. "And one thing particularly--how is it that in the moon-time you remember about the day-time, if in the day you forget all about the other."

"I don't exactly forget," said Jeanne, "but it spoils things to mix them together. And lots of things would be _quite_ spoilt if you took them into the regular daylight. I fancy, too, one can see farther in the moonlight--one can see more ways."

She was standing at the foot of the stair, a step or two higher than Hugh, and the soft light, which still, in some mysterious way, seemed to come down from above--though, looking up the spiral stair, its top seemed lost in gloom--fell on her pretty little face. Her hair had fallen back over her shoulders and lay dark on her pure white shiny dress; there was a look in her eyes which Hugh had never noticed before, as if she could see a long way off. Hugh looked at her earnestly.

"Jeanne," he said, "you're a perfect puzzle. I do wonder whether you're half a fairy, or an angel, or a dream. I do hope you're not a dream when you're in the moonlight. But, oh dear, I cannot understand."

"Do leave off trying to understand, Cheri," said Jeanne, "and let us amuse ourselves. I always love _you_, Cheri, whatever I am, don't I?"

She turned towards him brightly, with such a merry smile on her face that Hugh could not help smiling too.

"Do let us go on quickly," she said; "I do so want to see where this stair goes to."

"Let me go first. I'm a boy, you know, and it's right I should go first in case of meeting anything that might frighten you," said Hugh.

So he stepped up in front of Jeanne, and they slowly made their way.

It was impossible to go fast. Never was there such a twisty little stair. Here and there, too, it got darker, so that they could only just find their way, step by step. And it really seemed as if they had climbed a very long way, when from above came faintly and softly the sound of a plaintive "mew." "Mew, mew," it said again, whoever the "it"

was, and then stopped.

The children looked at each other.

"Cats!" they said at the same instant.

"It's just as well," said Hugh, "that none of the animals did come with us, as so many of them are birds."

Another step or two and the mystery was explained. They had reached the top of the turret stair; it led them into a little hall, all, like the great hall below, painted white. It looked perfectly pure and clean, as if it had only been painted the day before, and yet there was a curiously _old_ look about it too, and a faint scent of dried rose leaves seemed to be in the air.

There was a door in this little hall, exactly opposite the top of the stair, and at each side of the door was an arm-chair, also all white, and with a white satin cushion instead of a seat. And on each of these chairs sat a most beautiful white cat. The only colour in the hall was the flash of their green eyes, as they turned them full on the two children.

Jeanne crept a little closer to Hugh. But there was no reason for fear.

The cats were most amiably disposed.

"Mew!" said the one on the right-hand chair.

"Mew!" said the one on the left-hand chair.

Then they looked at each other for a moment, and at last, seeming to have made up their minds, each held out his right paw. Something in the way they did it reminded Hugh and Jeanne of Dudu when he stood on one leg, and stuck out the other like a walking-stick.

"Mew!" they said again, both together this time. And then in a clear, though rather mewey voice, the right-hand cat spoke to the children.

"Madame is expecting you," he said.

The children did not know what else to say, so they said, "Thank you."

"She has been waiting a good while," said the left-hand cat.

"I'm very sorry to have kept her waiting," said Hugh, feeling Jeanne nudge him. "I hope she has not been waiting very long?"

"Oh no," said the right-hand cat, "not long; not above three hundred years."