Orlando replied that he did not want to be cured, but, all the same, he was perfectly willing to go every day to the shepherd’s cottage, and talk to this youth as if he were really Rosalind. The plan succeeded admirably. Since he could not have Rosalind herself, it pleased Orlando to be always talking about her, and he did not notice how much in earnest this half-jesting companionship gradually became. As time went on, the exiles from Duke Frederick’s court made other acquaintances in the forest. Touchstone had found an object of interest, which served as an excellent butt for displaying his satire. This was a rustic goatherd, called Audrey, a simple, not bad-natured girl, but one of the very stupidest and most ignorant specimens of humanity possible to imagine. Touchstone seemed to be quite fascinated by her extreme silliness, and out of sheer perversity declared he meant to marry her. As for Audrey, she was perfectly unconscious of any ridicule he chose to lavish on her, and followed Touchstone about like a willing little slave. Rosalind and Celia, also, had come across Jaques, and the latter would willingly have become closer friends with the shepherd youth, but Rosalind’s sunny nature had nothing in sympathy with this cynic. “They say you are a melancholy fellow,” she said one day, in answer to a suggestion from Jaques that they should become better acquainted. “I am so; I love it better than laughing,” he replied. “It is good to be sad and say nothing.” “Why, then, it’s good to be a post,” remarked Rosalind. There were many different kinds of melancholy, Jaques explained, such as the scholar’s, the musician’s, the courtier’s, the soldier’s, etc.; his, however, was a melancholy of his own, compounded of many different ingredients, but especially due to reflections over his travels. “Yes, I have gained my experience,” he ended, with mournful satisfaction. “And your experience makes you sad?” quoth Rosalind. “I would rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad. And to travel for it too!” * * * * *