So the game went on, and, whether or not it was all fun with Amaryllis, it soon became half in earnest with Silvius. By a miracle, the balmy weather, a premature promise of spring, lasted a week. Every day Silvius came to the tryst, and, when he did not find Amaryllis waiting, he had not long to wait for her. They strolled along the wooded banks of the Seine, fancying those banks to be now those of the Lignon, now those of the Tiber, now those of some Hellenic or Sicilian stream. Sometimes a dainty luncheon, set out in the lodge or under the trees, varied the monotony of this shepherd life. Sometimes the conversation rose far out of the ken of ordinary shepherds, and invaded such subjects as philosophy and religion, sentiment and the passions, art and letters, music and the drama. Amaryllis described the acting of LeKain, and Silvius gave an account of the last appearance of Garrick, which Dick had witnessed from the first gallery of Drury Lane Theatre the previous June 10th, when the English actor played "Don Felix" in "The Wonder" and made a farewell speech that drew tears from himself and his brilliant audience. But Dick learned far more than he could impart. His week of make-believe pastoral was an education, and did more to fit him for the fine world than all his former years had done. Of course that week had results of the heart as well as of the intellect. One afternoon, the second Tuesday of their acquaintance, after they had sat some time at the lodge in silence, Dick gazing pensively at the green space before him, he let his thought take the form of speech: "After all, when you are eighteen I shall be only twenty-six." "That will be seven years from now," she said, lightly. "Seven years is a very long time." "So much the better. It gives a man like me time to attain a position worthy of a woman like you." "Oh, position, rank, and that sort of thing, what are they, after all? Have you heard what the Empress of Russia said to Monsieur Diderot? You know that by devoting himself to the encyclopaedia, Monsieur Diderot has kept himself poor, and his threadbare coat is no affectation. Well, Catherine II., aware of this, and appreciating the great sacrifice made in the interest of knowledge, bought Monsieur Diderot's library at a fine price, and then ordered it left in Paris, and appointed him her librarian to take care of it. Monsieur Diderot went to St. Petersburg four years ago, to thank her in person, and while he was there Catherine and he got into many disputes on questions of philosophy. One day Diderot hinted that he was at a disadvantage in arguing with the Empress of all the Russias. 'Nonsense,' said Catherine, 'is there any difference between men?'" Dick sighed, perceiving that she had sought to divert him from the topic he had broached. He rowed back to St. Denis that evening an unmistakably love-sick youth. He could hardly wait for the next afternoon, that he might renew the subject at any hazard.