Jean saw the grey, moving mass of a flock of sheep in the distance, and he did not stop running until he had come up to them. Some one was walking beside them, a tall man in a grey smock, his long, red locks falling about his shoulders.
“Dian, Dian, they are coming to Les Vignes, the Little Mademoiselle and the other young ladies!” Jean cried.
The shepherd smiled a slow, quiet smile.
“Yes, I know that they are coming. I saw Jacques the runner. They are coming, but the young Comte Lisle remains in Paris with his mother,” he said.
Jean skipped along beside the shepherd. They were great friends and it was always easy for him to talk to Dian.
“I was very naughty to-day. I did not want to take the bread to Grigge and the others. I do not like Grigge. Why do you take your time to teach him to read and write, Dian? He is not at all a nice boy. He is like a wolf.”
The shepherd had reached the sheepfold door, and he stood with both hands against it, ready to push it open. He paused at Jean’s words, uttering no reproach, but looking off across the field to where a delicate mist mingled with the startling beauty of the sunset sky. Jean stood watching him digging his bare toes into the soft earth.
“Grigge will learn,” was Dian’s answer as he went inside the sheepfold.