‘That, Madame, is because being deeply read in the Sibylline Books—which is the name I have ventured to bestow on your delicious romances—I need no other initiation to les rites galants.’
‘I fear, Mademoiselle, that if the Roman Republic had possessed only the Books that you call Sibylline, it would have been burned to the ground by the great Hannibal,’ says Sappho with a smile.
‘Madame, it would have been of no consequence, for the Sibyl herself would have taken captive the conqueror,’ answers Madeleine gallantly.
‘Ah, Sappho!’ cries the Princess Julie, ‘I perceive that we Nymphs are being beaten by the Shepherdess in the battle of flowers.’
‘Ah, no, Madame!’ Madeleine answers quickly. ‘Say rather that the Shepherdess knows valleys where grow wild flowers that are not found in urban gardens, and these she ventures to twine into garlands to lay humbly at the feet of the Nymphs.’ She pauses. Sappho, by half a flicker of an eyelid, shows her that she knows the garlands are all meant for her.
‘But, Mademoiselle, if you will pardon my curiosity, what induced you to leave your agreeable prairies?’ asks Mégabate.
‘Monsieur,’ answers Madeleine, smiling, ‘had you asked Aristæus why he left the deserts of Libya, his answer would have been the same as mine: “There is a Greece.”’
‘Was not Aristæus reared by the Seasons themselves and fed upon nectar and ambrosia?’ asks Sappho demurely.
‘To be reared by the Seasons! What a ravishing fate!’ cries one of the gallants. ‘It is they alone who can give the real roses and lilies, which blossom so sweetly on the cheeks of Mademoiselle.’
‘Monsieur, one of the Seasons themselves brings the refutation of your words. For Lady Winter brings ... la glace,’ says Madeleine, with a look of delicious raillery.