which at that
point formed a pretty little cascade. The tender Daphne had thrown
her beautiful arm round one of the young willows in flower, and,
trusting to its support, leaned gracefully over the waterfall, in
the shadow of its odoriferous leaves. She had allowed her soul to
wander in one of those delicious reveries, of which the
thread--broken and renewed a thousand times--is the work of the joy
which hopes, and the sadness which fears. She was not aware of
Hector's approach. When she saw him, she started, as if waking from
a dream.

"You are all alone," said Hector, drawing near.

She hurriedly told him that her sister would soon join her. The two
lovers kept silence for some time, looking timidly at each other,
not venturing to speak, as if they feared the sound of their own
voices in the solitude.

"There seems a sadness," said Hector at length, but his voice
trembled as he spoke--"there seems a sadness on your brow?"

"'Tis true," replied Daphne. "Mamma has heard from Monsieur
Deshoulieres. He is going to pass through Avignon soon, and we are
going away to see him on his passage."

"Going away!" cried Hector, turning pale.

"Yes! and I felt myself so happy," said Daphne, mournfully,
"in these meadows with my sheep, that I loved so well."

When Daphne spoke of her sheep, she looked at Hector.

"But why should you go? Madame Deshoulieres could return for you here"
--

"And take me away when I had been longer here--my grief would only
be greater. No--I must go now or stay always."

On hearing these words Hector fell on one knee, seized her hand and
kissed it, and, looking up with eyes overflowing with love, said--

"Yes--always! always!--you know that I love you, Daphne--I wish to
tell you how I will adore you all my life long."

Daphne yielded to her heart--and let him kiss her hand without
resistance.

"But alas!" she said, "I can't be always guarding a flock. What will
the poor shepherdess do?"

"Am I not your shepherd? your Daphnis?" cried Hector, as if
inspired--"trust to me, Daphne--to my heart--to my soul! This hand
shall never be separated from yours: we shall live the same life--in
the sane sunshine--in the same shadow--in the same hovel--in the
same palace; but with you, dearest Daphne, the humblest hut would be
a palace. Listen, my dearest Daphne: at a short distance from here
there is a cottage--the Cottage of the Vines--that belongs to the
sister of my nurse, where we can live in lov