CHAPTER IX
DIAN
Dian the shepherd was always welcome at Mother Barbette's fire. He satbefore it on a chilly December afternoon, warming his hands at apiled-up heap of briskly-burning fagots. Jean had gathered them duringthe autumn months, and they were stacked in neat piles in the back ofthe room. Rows of onions were strung on lines along the ceiling, andthere were bowls of good fig jam on a shelf by the door. Mother Barbettewas prepared for what she felt would be a hard winter.
She was making a stew for supper and she was wishing that it might havebeen a good one. She peered into the stock pot above the fire andsighed. It was not a savory mixture that met her eyes. The stew was mademostly of hot water and pieces of bread, to which she had added a cup ofmilk, some salt, and a bit of garlic. She had eaten the stew all herlife, but always before she had had a piece of veal or pork to add toit.
Dian the shepherd sniffed the stew delightedly.
"It's good to know that there will soon be food," he said. He oftenshared the Barbettes' supper and sometimes brought them meat which heobtained from a near-by farmer in exchange for some of the cheese forwhich he himself was famous. He never ate meat but seemed content alwayswith a cup of milk and a piece of bread.
"You are always of good heart and seem content with anything that comesyour way, Dian." Mother Barbette poured some soup into a blue bowl asshe spoke and handed it to the shepherd. He took it, bowing his headover it and closing his eyes for a moment. Then he ate it slowly, thefirelight playing on his long, straggling, red locks and work-worn handsand lighting up his earnest, bronzed face.
"There's a quietness about you, Dian. You are one of few words, but, ifI mistake not, you think more than the most of us," Mother Barbettecontinued. She sat down on a stool by the fire and began to mend Jean'slittle coat.
"There will be snow soon," the shepherd gave answer. He ate his stewslowly, for he was thinking deeply. He did not notice that Jean had comeinto the room until the boy came close to the fire. Then he made roomfor him on the settle.
"Tell us a good tale, please, Dian," pleaded Jean, snuggling up to theshepherd, for the cold wind blew through the little house and, even bythe fire, it searched out one's toes and ears.
Mother Barbette eyed her son severely.
"There is never a moment of the day that you think of aught but to amuseyourself. You can do little more than read and write, and you can thankDian that you accomplish even that much." Mother Barbette spoke withfeeling. It seemed as though Jean would never grow up, he was so merryof heart and so untouched by trouble. Her heart was sad enough, for sheknew that, since Neville had come back two months previous, there hadbeen no message from Madame Saint Frere and Lisle. They were hopingdaily for the coming of another messenger. Dian had spoken of snow. Thatwould mean bad traveling! Mother Barbette sighed as she patched thelittle coat. She knew that, though there were stores in the cellars atLes Vignes, there was very little ready money.
There was a sudden rap on the door. An instant later it opened, and inran Marie Josephine. Mother Barbette rose to her feet and came towardthe child, a look of concern on her broad face.
"Little Mademoiselle, what is it? You have come alone through the wood!"she exclaimed.
Dian stood up, and Jean jumped about the room in sheer delight, forMarie Josephine laughed as she gave Mother Barbette a hug.
"I came for some fun," she said, "and because I was tired of them all,even of Cecile, that is, not of her, but of her long face. You are notto scold me, dear Mother Barbette, because I ran alone through thewoods." She danced over to Dian and went on speaking eagerly. "I am gladthat you are here, Dian. Jean and I were saying only the other day thatit was so long since you had told us a story, not since we went last tomeet you when you came home from the pasture. I will sit on one side ofyou and Jean on the other, and if we are very good, will you not tell ussomething?"
Dian smiled a slow smile that lighted up his face and sat down again onthe settle. Marie Josephine and Jean snuggled down on each side of him,and Mother Barbette went over to her stool, took up the coat and herneedle and darning cotton, and smiled across at them. The LittleMademoiselle could only stay with them a short time, for she would soonbe missed at Les Vignes, but it was a blessing to have her there withthem. Mother Barbette's kind heart swelled with love for the twoplaymates sitting beside the good shepherd. She had been right when shehad said that Dian was a man of few words, but one who thought a greatdeal. Many of his thoughts he told to the children when they walked backwith him to the sheepfold. Marie Josephine often thought of these walkswith Dian during the long, sedate months in Paris in the winter.Sometimes she could almost smell the sweetness of the tufted meadow andhear the evening call of the larks.
Dian sat quietly in the firelight, his black, smocklike apron fallingabout his knees.
"You would have a tale, would you, Little Mademoiselle, you and Jean?Then it shall be as you will. I will tell you of what I was thinking asI walked back from the hill crest to-night and while I was fastening thesheepfold gate." He paused a moment and, as he sat gazing into theflames, there was a look of great earnestness in his eyes, and of greatsadness, too.
"Yes, yes! tell us, good Dian, tell us. We love your stories, Jean andI. We often talk of them together and we never forget any of them--'ThePurple Sun' and 'The Grey Hill' and 'The Waterfall That Sang'--we loveevery one of them."
Marie Josephine sat back contentedly. Nothing could happen to Lisle,nothing in the world. They would all be together in the spring. She knewthat the governess and the older girls talked together very seriouslywhen she was not present. Even her beloved Cecile seemed grave andpreoccupied, and she felt that she did not confide in her any more.Denise and Bertran still rode gaily through the demesne and danced inthe great drawing-room at Les Vignes in the evening. She was more andmore with Jean. She knew that Lisle would be disgusted with her if shemoped about, so she tried to be as happy as she could. She was reallyhappy this cold November night, enjoying the little adventure of havingrun away to the cottage.
"I hope they will worry and fuss about me," she thought to herself,which was of course very naughty of her. Then she closed her eyes therein the soft firelight and listened to Dian's story.
"This isn't a real story, Little Mademoiselle; it is only a fancy ofmine. I was thinking to-night, as I walked home in the sunset, of ayoung lad of noble birth, who lived many years ago, here in France, inthe time of the long-ago King Louis XI. It was the time of knights inarmor and of deep dungeons. It was a time like the present, when everyman's hand was raised against his brother. All the long way home itseemed as though this young lad walked beside me. He was clothed in blueand silver and his hair was like the corn when it is ripe. There was afalcon on his wrist because he was one of the king's pages of the hunt.Many a night he had held a torchlight for the king and had shouted,'Hallali!' when the greedy pack caught the poor stag. He was a gallantyouth and a brave one, though he was so young that he had never seensixteen years. He loved to run with his fellow pages through the forestat dawn and to throw the javelin with them at sunset. He was also a trueand loyal knight. One day, because he loved his king, he was carriedaway to a dungeon and no one knew where he had gone."
Dian stopped speaking and sat looking into the dying fire, his handsspread out upon his knees. Jean ran over to a wooden box by the door andcame back with his arms filled with fagots. He threw them on the fireand the sudden burst of flames made the pewter utensils above the mantelshine like diamonds and brought out the crimson gleam of the woven rugthat covered Mother Barbette's four-poster bed. Pince Nez, the crow, whohad been asleep with his head cocked on one side, woke suddenly and gavea solemn croak. When he croaked Mother Barbette gave a little start andsat up. She had been fast asleep and had not heard more than a word ortwo of what Dian had been saying. Pince Nez] Jean ranback to the settle after he had put on the wood and sat down in hisplace by the shepherd's side. He smiled across a
t Marie Josephine withhis merry black eyes. "We like the story, do we not, LittleMademoiselle?" he asked her. She sat looking down at her hands whichwere folded in her lap. She did not answer him or look up at him, forthere were tears in her eyes and she did not want any one to see them.While Dian had been talking she had been thinking with all her might.She had begun to suspect that he was speaking of Lisle, and as he wenton she became sure of it.
"There was a cowherd on the lands where the young page lived," Dian wenton. "This cowherd was sorely grieved at the trouble that had come to hismaster. He thought of the page night and day. He wished more than he hadever wished anything that he might find a way to rescue him, and hewhispered the wish as a prayer to the sun and the stars."
A knock broke in on the quiet earnestness of the shepherd's voice andthe next instant the door opened and Neville came inside. He waswind-blown and breathless.
"You are here, Little Mademoiselle, and that is well. The young ladiesand Madame le Pont were uneasy about you. Madame le Pont requested me tosay that you were to come at once."
The shepherd stood up and reached for his cloak from the back of thesettle. He was a taller man than Neville and had the look of one who hadlived always in the open, close to the secrets of beasts and birds.Neville wore again his wig and his familiar house uniform of red andgold. It did not seem possible that he could ever have worn the queer,shabby disguise in which he had come back from Paris. He looked verypale and ill. No one but the shepherd knew of the dire peril throughwhich the faithful man had passed in order to return with the messagefrom the comtesse and to protect the little group at Les Vignes. Dianknew, and there was something he had to say to him, so he put on hiscloak and went with them.
The wind shrieked eerily as Marie Josephine walked through the forest,with Neville and Dian on each side of her. Mother Barbette had wrappedher cloak about her and pulled the cape up over her curls. She walkedquietly, holding Dian's hand so that he might steady her steps over thefallen branches of trees or the sudden twists of roots here and there.Neville's lanthorn cast a dancing light ahead of them.
Marie Josephine was thinking deeply. Could it be that she was the samelaughing, mischievous girl who had run away after dinner, leaving theothers in the great firelit drawing-room? She had tried to be happybecause she could not believe that anything could happen to those sheloved. Now, suddenly, she was awake, and because it was her nature to dothings thoroughly she was very much awake indeed. She knew, as shewalked back under the moonless sky toward Les Vignes, where the lightsshone faintly, that she would never be the same little girl again. Dianhad been speaking of Lisle. He had not said so, but she knew it. Dianfelt that Lisle was in danger. There was no use in being happy orplaying in the woods with Jean any longer. She must be awake. It mightbe that there was something she could do!
She heard the clock strike eleven that night, and then twelve. She hadlain awake for three hours listening to the thin branches of walnuttrees swishing and flapping against her windows. When the clock strucktwelve she sat up in bed and listened. She had opened the window alittle way because she loved to feel the sweet, chill wind. She heardvoices quite distinctly by the side of the house. Some one spoke in alow tone, and a voice answered that she knew right away was Dian's.
"It is right that I should be the one to go. I have left a message forthe governess. Tell her not to fear. I shall reach them sometimesafely." Whether because the wind changed freakishly, or because thevoices had gone on down the driveway, Marie Josephine did not hearanother word. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window and, kneeling,peered out. There was no one about, and she did not hear anything now,except the moan of the forest and the wail of the wind.
She turned her head as she knelt against the window casement and there,coming toward her, was Cecile. How it happened Marie Josephine did notquite know, but the next moment she was sobbing with Cecile's arms abouther. Before she realized it she was in bed, tucked up warmly, withCecile close beside her. She told Cecile of Dian's story and then of thewords she had just overheard, and she knew that Cecile was very excitedthough she spoke quietly.
"Do you think it can be that Dian has gone to-night to Paris? Do youthink that is what I overheard, Cecile?" Marie Josephine asked herfriend, who answered steadily:
"I think that Dian has gone, and we must pray that he can help them."
Cecile's long braid of fair hair fell across her shoulders over hervelvet robe. She put her face down on the pillow beside Marie Josephineand they both lay looking out at the late moon which showed fleetinglythrough white clouds.
"I thought you had deserted me for your little friend Jean. You seemedhappy, just playing with him, and I was glad for you, but I have missedyour company so much of late," Cecile said softly.
"I thought you'd rather be with the others, and that you look upon me asa baby, the way the rest do," Marie Josephine answered with a sob,putting her arms around Cecile.
"No, Marie, I sometimes think of you as being the oldest of us all, andthe wisest. You think and dream when we are only sitting by and sewing.Perhaps it is because you are so close to the wild wood things--perhapsthat is what makes you wise," Cecile said.
"I'm not wise, but Dian is. He will take care of Lisle, I know he will."Marie Josephine smiled confidently in the dark as she spoke.
She lay awake beside Cecile for a long time, Great-aunt Hortense'stapestry covering them both. Dian was on his way through the wind-sweptnight. Cecile, too, was awake. She was thinking of Lisle in his bluevelvet and diamonds and his jeweled sword, of the minuet which they haddanced together at the bal masque on that last strange, happy evening.Dian was on his way to help; for that she was thankful. Had she known ofHumphrey Trail, in the dingy Paris alley room, she would have been morethankful still. Had she known of some of the plans in the mind of thefriend who lay beside her in the great four-poster bed, she would havebeen astounded and alarmed!