She had been strengthened in this, her first love, by the former
illusions of her imagination; and without one thought of evil, she
had lost her common sense, and had followed her lover instead of
attending to her mamma. Oh, young damsels, who are fond of pastorals,
and can dream of young cavaliers and ancient castles!--who hear, on
one side, the soft whisperings of a lover, and on the other, the
sensible remarks of your mother!--need I tell you which of the two
to choose? If you are still in doubt, read to the end of this story,
and you will hesitate no longer.

Hector rejoined his cousin, but during their walk home, neither of
them ventured to allude to the incident in the meadow. Hector
augured well from the silence of Clotilde--he hoped she would not
speak of his secret at the chateau. Vain hope! the moment she found
an opportunity, it all came out! That evening, M. de Langevy saw her
more pensive than usual, and asked her the cause.

"Oh, nothing," she said, and sighed.

The uncle persisted in trying to find it out.

"What is the matter, my dear Clotilde?" he said. "Has your
pilgrimage to the banks of the Lignon disappointed you?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Has my son---but where is Hector?"

"He has gone on the pilgrimage again."

"What the devil is he doing there?" "He has his reasons, of course,"
said Clotilde.

"Indeed!--Do you know what they are?" enquired the father.

"Not the least in the world--only--"

"Only what? I hate these only's--out with it all!"

"My dear uncle, I've told you I know nothing about it--only I have
seen his shepherdess."

"His shepherdess? You're laughing, Clotilde. Do you believe in
shepherdesses at this time of day?"

"Yes, uncle--for I tell you I saw his shepherdess fall down in a
faint on the side of the Lignon."

"The deuce you did? A shepherdess!--Hector in love with a shepherdess!"

"Yes, uncle; but a very pretty one, I assure you, in silk petticoat
and corset of white satin."

The father was petrified. "What is the meaning of all this? It must
be a very curious story. Bring me my fowling-piece and game-bag. Do
you think, my dear Clotilde, that infernal boy has returned to his
shepherdess?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Well--has the shepherdess any sheep?"

"No, uncle."

"The devil! that looks more serious. You went past the withy bed?"

"Yes, uncle; but I fancy the gentle shepherdess is nearer the village."

"Very good," grumbled the old Baron, with a tone of voice t