Letters From My Windmill Read Online Free PDF Page A

her getting back to the farm. She would
never be able to find the way to the crossing place alone, and I
couldn't leave the flock. The thought of staying the night on the
mountain troubled her a great deal, particularly as her family would
worry about her. I reassured her as best I could:
    —The nights are short in July, my Lady. It's only going to seem like a
passing, unpleasant moment.
    I quickly lit a good fire to dry her feet and her dress soaked by the
river. I then placed some milk and cheese in front of her, but the poor
little thing couldn't turn her thoughts to either warming herself or
eating. Seeing the huge tears welling up in her eyes, made me want to
cry myself.
    Meanwhile night had almost fallen. There was just the faintest trace of
the sunset left on the mountains' crests. I wanted mademoiselle to go
on into in the compound to rest and recover. I covered the fresh straw
with a beautiful brand new skin, and I bid her good night. I was going
to sit outside the door. As God is my witness, I never had an unclean
thought, despite my burning desire for her. I had nothing but a great
feeling of pride in considering that, there, in a corner of the
compound, close up to the flock watching curiously over her sleeping
form, my masters' daughter rested,—just like a sheep, though one
whiter and much more precious than all the others,—trusting me to
guard her. To me, never had the sky seemed darker, nor the stars
brighter…. Suddenly, the wicker fence opened and the beautiful
Stephanette appeared. She couldn't sleep; the animals were scrunching
the hay as they moved, or bleating in their dreams. For now, she just
wanted to come close to the fire. I threw my goat-skin over her
shoulders, tickled the fire, and we sat there together not saying
anything. If you know what's it's like to sleep under the stars at
night, you'll know that, when we are normally asleep, a mysterious
world awakens in the solitude and silence. It's the time the springs
babble more clearly, and the ponds light up their will o' the wisps.
All mountain spirits roam freely about, and there are rustlings in the
air, imperceptible sounds, that might be branches thickening or grass
growing. Day-time is for everyday living things; night-time is for
strange, unknown things. If you're not used to it, it can terrify
you…. So it was with mademoiselle, who was all of a shiver, and clung
to me very tightly at the slightest noise. Once, a long gloomy cry,
from the darkest of the ponds, rose and fell in intensity as it came
towards us. At the same time, a shooting star flashed above our heads
going in the same direction, as if the moan we had just heard was
carrying a light.
    —What's that? Stephanette asked me in a whisper.
    —A soul entering heaven, my Lady; and I crossed myself.
    She did the same, but stayed looking at the heavens in rapt awe. Then
she said to me:
    —Is it true then, that you shepherds are magicians?
    —No, no, mademoiselle, but here we live closer to the stars, and we
know more about what happens up there than people who live in the
plains.
    She kept looking at the stars, her head on her hands, wrapped in the
sheepskin like a small heavenly shepherd:
    —How many there are! How beautiful! I have never seen so many. Do you
know their names, shepherd?
    —Of course, lady. There you are! Just above our heads, that's the
Milky Way. Further on you have the Great Bear. And so, he described to
her in great detail, some of the magic of the star-filled panoply….
    —One of the stars, which the shepherds name, Maguelonne, I said,
chases Saturn and marries him every seven years.
    —What, shepherd! Are there star marriages, then?
    —Oh yes, my Lady.
    I was trying to explain to her what these marriages were about, when I
felt something cool and fine on my shoulder. It was her head, heavy
with sleep, placed on me with just a delightful brush of her ribbons,
lace, and dark tresses. She stayed just like that, unmoving, right
until the stars faded in