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As she disappeared along the steep path, stones disturbed by the mule’s hooves, seemed to take my heart with them as they rolled away. 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.Īnd there she was-gone-taking the empty baskets with her. 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.
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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. I asked them for news from the village, the baptisms, marriages, and so on. So, I was truly happy, when every fortnight I heard the bells on our farm’s mule which brought my provisions, and I saw the bright little face of the farm boy, or the red hat of old aunty Norade appear over the hill. But these were simple folk, silenced by the solitude, having lost the taste for chit-chat, and knowing nothing of what was going on down in the villages and towns. Occasionally the hermit from Mont-de-l’Ure would pass by looking for medicinal herbs, or I might see the blackened face of a chimney sweep from Piémont. When I used to be in charge of the animals on the Luberon, I was in the pasture for many weeks with my dog Labri and the flock without seeing another living soul.