"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, Chéri. 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, Chéri. 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."