She waited for him one bright morning and sprung out from behind the rocks. All she had was the ring she wore on her finger and the chain she wore around her neck. She gave the shepherd the chain and he used his rope to fashion for her a collar and lead so that she could walk the goat back to the village. Lucie knew that the women of the village would be looking out, through the cracks in their shutters, as always, and so she approached the chateau through the vineyard, pulling the goat quite easily, while feeding it handfuls of grass from her hand. It was only her neat little round-toed shoes that suffered from the indignity of this journey, and these she was able to clean satisfactorily while the Algerians prepared for the ceremony. Arnaud didn’t come. ‘Which suits me fine,’ whispered Lucie to her new friend, and she and Fatima worked all day to clear out the old junk from the storeroom in the garden so that they could eat in there if it rained. But it didn’t rain that night of the naming ceremony and they made a wonderful fire and even the doctor came, parking his car outside the gates and walking discreetly across the courtyard and over to the garden room.
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