THE STARS

A PROVENCAL SHEPHERD’S STORY

N the days when I kept sheep
on the Luberon I was
sometimes alone for weeks

together, not seeing a soul; alone on

the hill with my dog Labie and my
flock. From time to time the hermit
of Mont de l’Ure came by, looking for
herbs, or I saw the black face of some
charcoal-burner from Piedmont; but
these were simple folk, made silent by
their solitary life, who had lost their
love of talking, and knew nothing of
the gossip below in the towns and
villages. So, once a fortnight, when I