'From Lignon's famous banks What can I find to say? The breezes freshly springing, Make me--and nature--gay. When Celadon would weep; His lost Astrea fair, To Lignon he would creep, But oh! this joyous air Would force to skip and leap A dragon in despair!'--&c. &c. Madame Deshoulieres had no prudish notions, you will perceive, about a flirtation--provided it was carried on with the airs and graces of the Hotel Rambouillet. She merely, therefore, interposed a word here and there, to show that she was present. Daphne, who scarcely said a word to Hector, took good care to answer every time her mamma spoke to her. To be sure, it detracts a little from this filial merit, that she did not know what she said. But if all parties were pleased, I don't see what possible right anybody else has to find fault. The shepherdess Daphnè, 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, Daphnè 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 Daphnè. CHAPTER IV. The castle clock sounded the hour of luncheon. Hector offered his arm to Madame Deshoulieres; Daphnè 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, entrèe 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.