THE STARS 109

my big cloak hanging on the wall, my
crook, my flint-lock gun. All this
amused her.

‘And this is where you live, poor
shepherd. How tired you must be of
living all alone. What do you do,
what do you think about ?’

I had a great mind to answer, ‘Of
you, lady,’ and I should not have spoken
falsely ; but I was so nervous that I
could not say a single word. I think
she knew it, and that she took a
pleasure in maliciously increasing my
confusion.

‘And your sweetheart, shepherd,
does she ever come up here to see
you? Doubtless she is the golden kid
or the fairy Esterel who runs along the
peaks of the mountains.’

And she herself, whilst speaking,
looked to me like the fairy Esterel,
with her pretty head thrown back to
laugh, and her hurry to depart, which
made her short visit like a vision.

‘Good-bye, shepherd.’