parties were pleased,
I don't see what possible right anybody else has to find fault.

The shepherdess Daphne, or rather Bribri Deshoulieres, as we have
seen, was beautiful, and simple, and tender--beautiful from the
admirable sweetness of her expression--simple, as young girls are
simple: that is to say, with a small spice of mischief to relieve
the insipidity--and tender, with a smile that seems to open the
heart as well as the lips. What struck people in her expression at
first, was a shade of sadness over her features--a fatal presentiment,
as it were, that added infinitely to her charm. Her sister was more
beautiful, perhaps--had richer roses on her cheek, and more of what
is called _manner_ altogether--but if Amaranthe pleased the eyes,
Daphne captivated the heart; and as the eyes are evidently
subordinate to the heart, Daphne carried the day. Hector accordingly,
on the first burst of his admiration, had _seen_ nothing but
Amaranthe; but when he had left the sisters, it was astonishing how
exclusively he _thought_ of Daphne.

CHAPTER IV.

The castle clock sounded the hour of luncheon. Hector offered his arm
to Madame Deshoulieres; Daphne called her flock. They entered the
park, and were joined by the Duchess d'Urtis and Amaranthe. The
collation was magnificent. First course, an omelette au jambon, entree
cakes, and fresh butter; second course, a superb cream cheese.
Dessert, a trifle and preserves. All these interesting details are
embalmed in the poetic correspondence of Madame Deshoulieres, in
which every dish was duly chronicled for the edification of her
friends.

At nightfall--for Hector lingered as long as he could--the young
shepherd quitted the party with great regret; but there was no time
to lose, for he had two leagues to go, and there was no moon, and
the roads were still broken into immense ruts by the equinoctial
rains. On the following day, Hector returned to the Chateau d'Urtis
through the meadow. When he arrived near the willow that served for
his bridge across the river, he was surprised to see neither
shepherdess nor flock in the field. He tripped across the tree,
lamenting the bad omen; but scarcely had he reached the other side
when he saw some sheep straggling here and there. He rushed towards
them, amazed at not seeing either Amaranthe or Daphne; and what was
his enchantment when, on advancing a little further, he perceived
his adored shepherdess by the margin of the Lignon,