"In that country I have told you of no one ever said such a thing as that." "Why didn't they?
Did they really _see_ fairies there ?" asked Jeanne, lowering her voice a little.
"Perhaps," said Marcelline; but that was all she _would_ say, and Jeanne couldn't get her to tell her any fairy stories, and had to content herself with making them for herself instead out of the queer shapes of the burning wood of the fire.
She was so busy with these fancies that she did not hear the stopping of the click-click of Marcelline's knitting needles, nor did she hear the old nurse get up from her chair and go out of the room.

A few minutes before, the _facteur_ had rung at the great wooden gates of the courtyard--a rather rare event, for in those days letters came only twice a week--but this, too, little Jeanne had not heard.

She must have grown drowsy with the quiet and the heat of the fire, for she quite started when the door again opened, and Marcelline's voice told her that her mother wanted her to go down to the salon, she had something to say to her.
"O Marcelline," said Jeanne, rubbing her eyes, "I didn't know you had gone away.

What does mamma want?
O Marcelline, I am so sleepy, I would like to go to bed." "To go to bed, Mademoiselle, and not yet five o'clock! Oh no, you will wake up nicely by the time you get down to the salon." "I am so tired, Marcelline," persisted Jeanne.

"These winter days it is so dull.