Poor Jacques was for a moment so completely absorbed by this lovely picture, that he did not reply. "Who is Flora!--can you ask?" he stammered. "Oh, yes!" said Belle-bouche, blushing; "you mean Philippa, do you not? But I can't tell you what she will wear. She has returned home. Let us go back through the orchard." And Belle-bouche, with that exquisite grace which characterized her, crossed the log and stood upon the opposite bank of the brook, looking coquettishly over her shoulder at the melancholy Jacques, who was so absorbed in gazing after her that he had scarcely presence of mind enough to follow. "What a lovely day; a real lover's day!" he said, with a sigh, when he had joined her, and they were walking on. "Delightful," said Belle-bouche, smelling a violet. "And the blossoms, you know," observed Jacques disconsolately. "Delicious!" "To say nothing of the birds," continued Jacques, sighing. "I believe the birds know the twentieth of May is coming." "Why--what takes place upon the twentieth?" said Belle-bouche, with a faint smile. "That is the day for lovers, and I observed a number of birds making love as I came along," sighed Jacques. "I only wish they'd teach me how." Belle-bouche turned away, blushing. "On the twentieth of May," continued Jacques, enveloping the fascinating countenance of Belle-bouche with his melancholy glance, "the old lovers in Arcadia--the Strephons, Chloes, Corydons, Daphnes, and Narcissuses--always made love and married on that day." "Then," said Belle-bouche, faintly smiling, "they did every thing very quickly." "In a great hurry, eh?" said Jacques, sighing. "Yes, sir." "Do not call me sir, my dearest Miss Belle-bouche--it sounds so formal and unpoetical." "What then shall I call you?" laughed Belle-bouche, with a slight tremor in her voice. "Strephon, or Corydon, or Daphnis," said Jacques; "for you are Phillis, you know." Belle-bouche turned the color of a peony, and said faintly: "I thought my name was Chloe the other day." "Yes," said the ready Jacques, "but that was when my own name was Corydon." "Corydon?" "Yes, yes," sighed Jacques, "the victim of the lovely Chloe's beauty in the old days of Arcady." Belle-bouche made no reply. "Ah!" sighed Jacques, "if you would only make that old tradition true--if----" "Oh!" said Belle-bouche, looking another way, "just listen to that mocking-bird!" "If love far greater than the love of Corydon--devotion----" "I could dance a reel to it," said Belle-bouche, blushing; "and we shall have some reels, I hope, at the ball. Oh! I expect a great deal of pleasure." "And I," said Jacques, sadly, "for I escort you." "Then you have not forgotten your promise!" "Forgotten!" "And you really will take charge of me?" said Belle-bouche, with a delightful expression of doubt.