For all answer Jeanne gave a sort of little whistle—half whistle, half coo it was. "Houpet, Houpet," she called softly, "we've brought a little cochon de Barbarie to sleep in your house. You must be very kind to him—do you hear, Houpet dear? and in the morning you must fly down and peep in at his cage and tell him you're very glad to see him."
A faint, a very faint little rustle was heard up above in the corner where Jeanne had tried to persuade her cousin that the chickens were to be seen, and delighted at this evidence that any way they were to be heard, she turned to him triumphantly.
"That's Houpet," she said. "Dear little fellow, he's too sleepy to crow—he just gives a little wriggle to show that he's heard me. Now put down the cage, Chéri—oh, you have put it down—and let's run in again. Your pet will be quite safe, you see, but if we're not quick, Marcelline will be running out to look for us."
She felt about for Hugh's hand, and having got it, turned to go. But she stopped to put her head in again for a moment at the door.
"Houpet, dear," she said, "don't let Dudu come into your house. If he tries to, you must fly at him and scold him and peck him."
"Who is Dudu?" said Hugh, as they were running back to the house together along the snowy garden path.
"He is——" began Jeanne. "Hush," she went on, in a lower voice, "there he is! I do believe he heard what I said, and he's angry." For right before them on the path stood the old raven, on one leg as usual, though this it was too dark to see clearly. And, as Jeanne spoke, he gave a sharp, sudden croak, which made both the children jump, and then deliberately hopped away.
"He's a raven!" said Hugh with surprise. "Why, what funny pets you have, Jeanne!"
Jeanne laughed.
"Dudu isn't my pet," she said. "I don't like him. To tell you the truth, Chéri, I'm rather frightened of him. I think he's a sort of a fairy."