Then she was off like the wind, her bundle under her arm. She looked back once at the great house, so silver white under the moon. She entered the wood, so fresh and wild and sweet, on this early spring night. Startled wild things in the bushes stirred and scampered at her approach. She must do one thing—she must have one last look at Mother Barbette’s cottage. She stopped running as she caught sight of it through the budding trees. There it was, so warm and snug and red with its straight, quaint stone chimney, its neat stone doorstep. Marie Josephine looked and looked at it as though she could never look long enough or hard enough. Then she turned and walked slowly away. As she entered the wood path again, she thought she saw something moving in the shadow. She had thought the same thing on her way to the cottage. She could not be frightened in her own woods of Les Vignes, but she started to run, and ran on and on, taking the cut through the hedge near the gates as Dian had done, and, like him, going to the huts. She did not knock as he had done, but put her mouth close to the keyhole. “Grigge!” she called, very softly. Almost before she knew it the door opened and Grigge’s gaunt, long face peered through the opening. When he saw Marie Josephine he came out and closed the door. He did not recognize her at first, and when she spoke his astonishment was so great that he rubbed his eyes with his jacket sleeve and stared at her open-mouthed. “Listen, Grigge, I have only time to speak a word with you. I am going to find Dian, and to help him and the others, if I can. I want you to know. And, Grigge,” she came a step closer and looked up at him earnestly, “I feel that you can do so much here among the people. For Dian’s sake, help us now. I know that everyone is leaving us, and that there is wild talking in the barns and through the fields. Grigge, I know that you have nothing to be grateful for to us, but will you not help us now? Stay and care for Dian’s sheep. Do not join the wild crowds in the townships.” She touched his arm in farewell and was off, flying down the road as though her feet had wings. Grigge stood looking after her, so dazed that he could not credit his senses. He had come out half asleep and found a shock-haired peasant girl at his door who had spoken to him with the voice of the Little Mademoiselle! What was it she had said? Do not join the wild crowds in the townships! Little she knew of those crowds, or of anything but ease and luxury. She was right, he had nothing to be grateful for to a Saint Frère. He hated them root and branch. He stood looking after Marie Josephine as she sped away along the moonlit road, as though he could not believe his eyes. Where was she going, and what did it mean? Then some of her words came back to him: “Stay and care for Dian’s sheep!” He went into the close hovel and threw himself down on his oat-straw shakedown.