She was standing at the foot of the stair, a step or two higher than Hugh, and the soft light, which still, in some mysterious way, seemed to come down from above—though, looking up the spiral stair, its top seemed lost in gloom—fell on her pretty little face. Her hair had fallen back over her shoulders and lay dark on her pure white shiny dress; there was a look in her eyes which Hugh had never noticed before, as if she could see a long way off. Hugh looked at her earnestly.
"Jeanne," he said, "you're a perfect puzzle. I do wonder whether you're half a fairy, or an angel, or a dream. I do hope you're not a dream when you're in the moonlight. But, oh dear, I cannot understand."
"Do leave off trying to understand, Chéri," said Jeanne, "and let us amuse ourselves. I always love you, Chéri, whatever I am, don't I?"
She turned towards him brightly, with such a merry smile on her face that Hugh could not help smiling too.
"Do let us go on quickly," she said; "I do so want to see where this stair goes to."
"Let me go first. I'm a boy, you know, and it's right I should go first in case of meeting anything that might frighten you," said Hugh.
So he stepped up in front of Jeanne, and they slowly made their way.
It was impossible to go fast. Never was there such a twisty little stair. Here and there, too, it got darker, so that they could only just find their way, step by step. And it really seemed as if they had climbed a very long way, when from above came faintly and softly the sound of a plaintive "mew." "Mew, mew," it said again, whoever the "it" was, and then stopped.
The children looked at each other.
"Cats!" they said at the same instant.