Hugh did not feel the least surprised; he smiled sleepily, and turned over quite satisfied.
"They'll take us safe back," he said to himself: and that was all he thought about it.
"Good-night, Cheri, good-night," was the next thing he heard, or remembered hearing.
Hugh half sat up and rubbed his eyes.
Where was he?
Not in the boat, there was no sound of oars, the light that met his gaze was not that of the strange country where Jeanne and he had had all these adventures, it was just clear ordinary moonlight; and as for where he was, he was lying on the floor of the tapestry room close to the part of the wall where stood, or hung, the castle with the long flight of steps, which Jeanne and he had so wished to enter.

And from the other side of the tapestry--from inside the castle, one might almost say--came the voice he had heard in his sleep, the voice which seemed to have awakened him.
"Good-night, Cheri," it said, "good-night.

I have gone home the other way." "Jeanne, Jeanne, where are you?
Wait!" cried Hugh, starting to his feet.
But there was no reply.
Hugh looked all round.

The room seemed just the same as usual, and if he had looked out of the window, though this he did not know, he would have seen the old raven on the terrace marching about, and, in his usual philosophical way, failing the sunshine, enjoying the moonlight; while down in the chickens' house, in the corner of the yard, Houpet and his friends were calmly roosting; fat little Nibble soundly sleeping in his cage, cuddled up in the hay; poor, placid Grignan reposing in his usual corner under the laurel bush.

All these things Hugh would have seen, and would no doubt have wondered much at them.