"Who is Changarnier?" I asked, looking at the lock of golden hair that had fallen loose on her shoulder, and which the moonlight was silvering, just as sorrow had silvered the hair of the once beautiful Countess Feliciani.
"He is a beast!" replied she. "Is my dress torn?" She held out her dress by a finger and thumb on either side, and rotated before me solemnly in the moonlight, so that I might examine it back and front.
"No," I said; "it is not torn, but you have lost your crook."
"Yes," replied the shepherdess; "but I have found my sheep. Oh, I saw you looking at me. You followed me with your eyes the whole evening. You made Changarnier furious; he said you were an aristocrat. Who are you, M. l'Aristocrat?"
"And you?"
"I am a shepherdess. And you?"
"I am an aristocrat."
She laughed, put her arm in mine, and we walked, the great moon casting our shadows before us.
"If we go this way," said she, "we can get something to eat. This is the Rue Petit Thouars. Are you hungry?"