"Yes," said Hugh. "At least, of course when I'm fast asleep it doesn't matter to me if it's moonlight or not. But you know what I like it for, Marcelline, and you said the other day that I hadn't half seen the tapestry castle, and I want very much to see it, Marcelline, only I'd like Jeanne to be with me; for I don't think I could tell her well about the fairy things if she hadn't been with me. She didn't seem to understand the words, and I don't think I could get the right ones to tell, do you know, Marcelline?"
He half sat up in bed, resting his head on his elbow, which was leaning on the pillow, and looking up in the old woman's face with his earnest blue eyes. Marcelline shook her head slowly.
"No," she said, "you're right. The words wouldn't come, and if they did, it would be no use. You're older than Mademoiselle Jeanne, Monsieur Hugh, and it's different for her. But it doesn't matter—the days bring their own pleasures and interests, which the moonlight wouldn't suit. You wouldn't have cared for a dinner like what you have every day when you were listening to the song of the swan?"
"No, certainly not," said Hugh. "I see you do understand, Marcelline, better than anybody. It must be as I said; there must be two of me, and two of Jeanne, and two of you, and——"
"And two of everything," said Marcelline; "and the great thing is to keep each of the twos in its right place."
She smiled now, right out, and was turning away with the light in her hand, when Hugh called after her,
"Will the moonlight nights come again soon, Marcelline? Do tell me. I'm sure you know."
"Have a little patience," said the old nurse, "you shall be told. Never fear."
And, a little inclined to be impatient, Hugh was nevertheless obliged to shut his eyes and go to sleep. There was no moonlight that night any way.
But not many nights after there came a great surprise.