“They were as hungry as Wolf, the lodgekeeper’s dog, after he was lost for four days. They tore the bread to bits and all the other children came. They were fighting over one loaf when I came away.” Mother Barbette dropped her knitting in her lap and bowed her head. “Grigge was the worst of them all, Petite Mère. He snatched a whole loaf for himself and he taunted me again. Grigge is not my friend.” “He is always hungry, poor Grigge. He works all day at the olive mill for so little a pittance; it is no wonder that they starve.” Mother Barbette sighed as she spoke and Jean patted her cheek. “You are not to do that again, Petite Mère. You should smile because Little Mademoiselle is coming! I am going to find Dian and tell him the good news!” Jean made a dash at Pince Nez who had alighted on the back of Mother Barbette’s chair. Then he ran with a whoop down the little box-bordered path, through a hedgelike opening into the forest, on through piney sweetness, through deep, dark arches of mingling boughs, on and on, until he came to a great sweep of sloping meadows. 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. CHAPTER V INSIDE THE COACH The coach was so heavy that as it rolled along the quiet country road it made a noise like thunder. The coach was gilded and on the panels were hand-painted pictures of cupids dancing. There had always been two men up on the high seat behind and two in front. Now there was only one man who was driving, and he was not really a coachman at all, but Neville, a footman of the Saint Frères’. He wore a dark livery and he was very intent on his driving.