“Livette! Livette!”
It was the grandmother’s voice calling.
They went down without exchanging a word.
“Good-night, Monsieur Jacques,” said the maiden.
“Good-night, mademoiselle,” Renaud replied.
So they called each other monsieur and mademoiselle that night, and, a moment after they had parted, Renaud took his horse from the stable in perfect silence, and rode away.
His heart did not tell him that Livette, at her window, watched him depart, her eyes filled with tears.
“Where is he going?”
She followed for a moment with her glance the luminous point (the reflection of a star upon the head of the drover’s spear) dancing about in the darkness among the trees like a will-o’-the-wisp,—and when that spark went out, she no longer saw the stars.