et there was
something in the extravagant stupidity of his fat and florid
countenance that was interesting to a Parisian eye. Madame
Deshoulieres, who was too much occupied with the verses of the great
D'Urfe to attend to what was before her, continued her description--

"The birds all round her praises ever sing,
And 'neath her steps the flowers incessant spring."

"Your occupation here is delightful, isn't it?" said Madeleine to the
peasant girl.

"No, 'tain't, miss--that it ain't. I gets nothink for all I does,
and when I goes hoam at night I gets a good licking to the bargain."

"And you?" enquired Madeleine, turning to the herdsman, who was
slinking off.

"I'm a little b-b-b-etter off nor hur," said the man, stuttering,
"for I gets board and lodging--dasht if I doesn't--but I gets bread
like a stone, and s-s-sleeps below a hedge--dasht if I doesn't."

"But where are your sheep, shepherd?" said Bribri.

"Hain't a got none," stuttered the man again, "dasht if I has."

"What!" exclaimed Madeleine in despair, "am I not to see the lovely
lambkins bleating and skipping in the meadows on the banks of the
Lignon, O Celadon?"

But Madame Deshoulieres was too much of a poetess to hear or see what
was going on. She thought of nothing but the loves of Astrea, and
heard nothing but the imaginary songs of contending Damons.

On their return to the chateau, Madeleine and Bribri complained that
they had seen neither flock nor shepherdess.

"And are you anxious to see them?" enquired Madame D'Urtis, with a
smile.

"Oh, very," exclaimed Bribri; "we expected to live like
shepherdesses when we came here. I have brought every thing a rustic
wants."

"And so have I," continued Madeleine; "I have brought twenty yards
of rose-coloured ribands, and twenty yards of blue, to ornament my
crook and the handsomest of my ewes."

"Well then," said the Duchess d'Urtis, good-naturedly, "there are a
dozen of sheep feeding at the end of the park. Take the key of the
gate, and drive them into the meadows beyond."

Madeleine and Bribri were wild with joy, while their mother was
labouring in search of a rhyme, and did not attend to the real
eclogue which was about to be commenced. They scarcely took time to
breakfast.--"They dressed themselves coquettishly"--so Madame
Deshoulieres wrote to Mascaron--"they cut with their own hands a
crook a-piece in the park--they beautified them with ribands.
Madeleine was for the blue riban