ar over the hill. I
asked them for news from the village, the baptisms, marriages, and so
on. But what particularly interested me, was to know what was happening
to my master's daughter, Mademoiselle Stephanette, the loveliest thing
for fifty kilometres around. Without wishing to seem over-curious, I
managed to find out if she was going to village fetes and evening farm
gatherings, and if she still turned up with a new admirer every time.
If someone asked me how that concerned a poor mountain shepherd, I
would say that I was twenty years old and that Stephanette was the
loveliest thing I had seen in my whole life.

One Sunday, however, the fortnight's supplies were very late arriving.
In the morning, I had thought, "It's because of High Mass." Then about
midday, a big storm got up, which made me think that bad road
conditions had kept the mule from setting out. Then, just after three
o'clock, as the sky cleared and the wet mountain glistened in the
sunshine, I could hear the mule's bells above the sound of the dripping
leaves and the raging streams. To me they were as welcome, happy, and
lively as a peal of bells on Easter Day. But there was no little farm
boy or old aunty Norade at the head. It was ... you'll never guess ...
my heart's very own desire, friends! Stephanette in person, sitting
comfortably between the wicker baskets, her lovely face flushed by the
mountain air and the bracing storm.

Apparently, the young lad was ill and aunty Norade was on holiday at
her childrens' place. Stephanette told me all this as she got off the
mule, and explained that she was late because she had lost her way. But
to see her there in her Sunday best, with her ribbon of flowers, her
silk skirt and lace bodice; it looked more like she had just come from
a dance, rather than trying to find her way through the bushes. Oh, the
little darling! My eyes never tired of looking at her. I had never seen
her so close before. Sometimes in winter, after the flocks had returned
to the plain, and I was in the farm for supper in the evening, she
would come into the dining room, always overdressed and rather proud,
and rush across the room, virtually ignoring us.... But now, there she
was, right in front of me, all to myself. Now wasn't that something to
lose your head over?

Once she had taken the provisions out of the pannier, Stephanette began
to take an interest in everything. Hitching up her lovely Sunday skirt,
which otherwise might have