to us--that's very plain. We will give him a crook
and a bouquet of flowers."

"Oh, just the thing!" exclaimed the innocent Daphne. "We need a
shepherd: and yet, no, no"--she added, for she was a little jealous
of her sister--"'tis a lucky thing there is river between us."

"I hope he will find a bridge _per passa lou riou d'amor_."

Now, just at that moment Hector's mind was set on passing the river
of Love. In casting his eyes all round in search of a passage, he
perceived an old willow half thrown across the stream. With a little
courage and activity, it was a graceful and poetical bridge. Hector
resolved to try it. He rose and went right onward towards the tree;
but, when he arrived, he couldn't help reflecting that, at that
season, the river was immensely deep. He disdained the danger--sprang
lightly up the trunk, and flung himself along one of the branches,
dropping, happily without any accident, on the meadow of the Chateau
d'Urtis. Little more was left for him to do; and that little he did.
He went towards the fair shepherdesses. He tried to overcome his
timidity--he overwhelmed the first sheep of the flock with his
insidious caresses--and then, finding himself within a few feet of
Amaranthe--he bowed, and smiled, and said, "Mademoiselle."

He was suddenly interrupted by a clear and silvery voice.

"There are no Mesdemoiselles here--there are only two shepherdesses,
Amaranthe and Daphne."

Hector had prepared a complimentary speech for a young lady attending
a flock of sheep--but he hadn't a word to say to a shepherdess.

He bowed again, and there was a pause.

"Fair Amaranthe," he said--"and fair Daphne, will you permit a mortal
to tread these flowery plains?"

Amaranthe received the speech with a smile, in which a little
raillery was mingled. "You speak like a true shepherd," she said.

But Daphne was more good-natured, and more touched with the
politeness of the sportsman. She cast her eyes on the ground and
blushed.

"Oh--if you wish to pass through these meadows," she said--"we shall
be"--

"We were going to do the honours of our reception room," continued
Amaranthe, "and offer you a seat on the grass."

"'Tis too much happiness to throw myself at your feet," replied
Hector, casting himself on one knee.

But he had not looked where he knelt, and he broke Daphne's crook.

"Oh, my poor crook!" she said--and sighed.

"What have I done?" cried Hector. "I am distressed at my stupidity--I
wil