look pleased. But he was _very_ tired and very shy. That was all that
was the matter. And his shyness made Jeanne feel shy too.

"Are you very tired, my cousin?" she said at last.

"Not very, thank you," said Hugh. "I am rather tired, but I am not very
hungry," he added, glancing at a side-table where a little supper had
been laid out for him. "I am not very hungry, but I think Nibble is.
Might I have a little milk for Nibble, please?"

As he spoke he held up for Jeanne to see the small box he was carrying,
and she gave a little scream of pleasure when, through the bars, she
caught sight of the guinea-pig's soft nose, poking out, saying as
plainly almost as if he had spoken, "I want my supper; please to see at
once about my supper, little girl."

"Neeble," cried Jeanne, "O my cousin, is Neeble your pet? Why, he is a
'cochon de Barbarie!' O the dear little fellow! We could not--at least
papa and mamma could not--read what he was. And have you brought him all
the way, my cousin, and do you love him very much? Marcelline,
Marcelline, oh, do give us some milk for the cochon de Barbarie--oh,
see, Marcelline, how sweet he is!"

Once set free, her tongue ran on so fast that sometimes Hugh had
difficulty to understand her. But the ice was broken any way, and when,
an hour or two later, Jeanne's mother told her she might take Hugh up to
show him his room, the two trotted off, hand-in-hand, as if they had
been close companions for years.

"I hope you will like your room, chéri," said Jeanne, with a tiny tone