Jeanne shook her little head in perplexity.
"I don't know," she said. "It was wonderful. Did you hear all it told, Chéri?"
"Yes," said Hugh. "But no one could ever tell it again, Jeanne. It is a secret for us."
"And for the frogs," added Jeanne.
"And for the frogs," said Hugh.
"But," said Jeanne, "I thought the swan was going to die. That was not dying."
"Yes," said the queer croaking voice of the frog, suddenly reappearing on the edge of the boat; "yes, my children," he repeated, with a strange solemnity, "for such as the swan that is dying. And now once more—for you will never see me again, nor revisit this country—once again, my children, I bid you farewell."
He waved his hands in adieu, and hopped away.
"Chéri," said Jeanne, after a short silence, "I feel rather sad, and a very little sleepy. Do you think I might lie down a little—it is not the least cold—and take a tiny sleep? You might go to sleep too, if you like. I should think there will be time before we row back to the shore, only I do not know how we shall get the boat through the narrow part if the frogs have all gone. And no doubt Houpet and the others will be wondering why we are so long."
"We can whistle for Dudu again if we need," said Hugh. "He helped us very well the last time. I too am rather sleepy, Jeanne, but still I think I had better not go quite asleep. You lie down, and I'll just paddle on very slowly and softly for a little, and when you wake up we'll fix whether we should whistle or not."