"Not at all," said Dudu. "She is away, and farther away than you or she has any notion of, even though if you went into her room you would see her little rosy face lying on the pillow. She is away."
Hugh still looked puzzled, though rather less so.
"You mean that her thinking is away, I suppose," he said. "But I could wake her."
Again the raven cocked his head on one side.
"No," he said. "You must be content to do my way at present. Now, tell me what it is you want. Why did you wish me to come to see you?"
"I wanted—at least I thought, and Jeanne said so," began Hugh. "We thought perhaps you were a fairy, Monsieur Dudu, and that you could take us into the castle in the tapestry. It looked so bright and real a few minutes ago," he added, turning to the wall, which was now only faintly illumined by the moonlight, and looked no different from what Hugh had often seen it in the daytime. "What has become of the beautiful light, Monsieur Dudu? And the peacocks? They have shut up their tails again——"
"Never mind," said the raven. "So you want to see the castle, do you?" he added.
"Yes," said Hugh; "but not so much as Jeanne. It was she wanted it most. She wants dreadfully to see it. I thought," he added, rather timidly, "I thought we might play at giving a party in the castle, and inviting Houpet, you know, and Nibble."
"Only," observed the raven, drily, "there is one little objection to that. Generally—I may be mistaken, of course, my notions are very old-fashioned, I daresay—but, generally, people give parties in their own houses, don't they?"
And as he spoke he looked straight at Hugh, cocking his head on one side more than ever.