he was in a dream; one might have supposed that his
nerves were steeped in the liquid melody--or at times, when he
started, that the music came over him like a shower bath of perfume.

His sighs would have conciliated tigers; and when she turned and
smiled on him, he almost staggered.

"Now," said Belle-bouche smiling softly, "suppose I sing something a
little merrier. You know the minuet always gives place to the reel."

Jacques uttered an expiring assent, and Belle-bouche commenced singing
with her laughing voice the then popular ditty, "Pretty Betty Martin,
tip-toe fine."

If her voice sighed before, it laughed out loudly now. The joyous and
exhilarating music sparkled, glittered, fell in rosy showers--rattled
like liquid diamonds and dry rain. It flashed, and glanced, and
ran--and stumbling over itself, fell upwards, showering back again in
shattered cadences and fiery foam.

When she ended, Jacques remained silent, and was only waked, so to
speak, by hearing his name pronounced.

"Yes," he said at random.

Belle-Bouche laughed.

"You agree with me, then, that my voice is wretchedly out of tune?"
she said mischievously.

Poor Jacques only sighed and blushed.

"Betty Martin was a foolish girl," said Belle-bouche, laughing to hide
her embarrassment.

"How?" murmured Jacques.

Belle-bouche found that she was involved in a delicate explanation;
but thinking boldness the best, she replied:

"Because she could not find just the husband she wanted. You know the
song says so--'some were too coarse and some too fine.'"

"Yes," murmured Jacques; "and 'tis often the case with us poor
fellows. We seldom find the Chloe we want--she flies us ever spite of
our attempts to clasp her to our hearts."

"That is not because Chloe is fickle, but because Corydon is so
difficult to please," Belle-bouche replied, with a sly little smile.

"Ah! I am not!" he sighed.

"Indeed, you are mistaken; I'm sure you are a very fastidious
shepherd."

"No, no. True, I may never find my Chloe; but when I do, then I shall
no longer be my own master."

Belle-bouche hesitated, blushed, and said quickly:

"Perhaps you long to meet with an angel."

"Oh, no--only a woman," said Jacques; "and if you will listen, I will
describe my ideal in a moment."

"Yes," said Belle-bouche, looking away; for his eyes were fixed upon
her with such meaning that she could not return his gaze.

"First," said Corydon, sighing, "she should be young