Marie Josephine’s mind was so full of another thought that she did not dwell long on the apparition of the woman, whoever she might be, for more than a minute. Then she ran down the terrace steps and disappeared in the direction of Mother Barbette’s cottage. As she had guessed, Mother Barbette herself was not in the cottage. She had gone to one of the hovels to nurse a boy who had hurt his leg. Marie Josephine called softly: “Jean!” Jean was sitting on the stone doorstep, but she had not seen him in the shadow of the moon and tree branches. He jumped up and came running to her. “I’ve only come for a minute, Jean. Let’s sit on the doorstep. Isn’t the moonlight wonderful? We’ve had so much fun in the moonlight every summer, haven’t we? We’ve been comrades, Jean, great friends!” Marie Josephine put out the back of her hand as she spoke, and Pince Nez, the crow, lighted on it with a croak. “Pince Nez will be two years old in June. Do you remember when Dian rescued him and brought him to the sheepfold? I can just see him now, lying on the shelf with his funny beak open.” Marie Josephine stroked the crow gently, and Pince Nez winked impudently. Jean was sitting in the shadow, and as Marie Josephine went on speaking, his eyes grew rounder and rounder! “We must always remember what friends we have been and be happy about it. You will grow to be a fine man, Jean. I am sure of that. You must always help Grigge. Dian would wish you to.” Marie Josephine paused and sat silently looking off at the black outline of the wood. Suddenly Jean jumped up and stood in front of her. “Tell me, Little Mademoiselle, tell me what you are thinking about.” “I am thinking how I love Pigeon Valley, Jean.” She jumped up also and put her hand on his arm. “I—oh, that’s all!” Jean spoke again, softly and quickly. “You are thinking of the plan, I know you are. You are going to do that—no, I won’t say it, but no one can hear us.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You are going to run away to Paris. I know you are!” They walked on through the wood path, and when they came to the sundial, she turned and faced him. “You are always making up mysteries, you funny boy,” she said. “I must run, for it’s past my bedtime. Good night, Jean!” she cried over her shoulder. As she ran toward the house the hot tears chased down her cheeks. It was the hardest thing she had ever experienced, not telling Jean what she was going to do that very night! Cécile and Denise were sitting in front of a log fire in Cécile’s bedroom when Marie Josephine came in to say good night. Cécile was talking in her gentle way and she looked up smilingly when Marie Josephine came in. “I was telling Denise that we must make the best of this wonderful spring weather, and we’ve been planning a picnic. What do you say to a lunch out of doors in the birch woods soon, and a violet picking expedition afterward?”