"Indeed, you are mistaken; I'm sure you are a very fastidious shepherd."
"No, no. True, I may never find my Chloe; but when I do, then I shall no longer be my own master."
Belle-bouche hesitated, blushed, and said quickly:
"Perhaps you long to meet with an angel."
"Oh, no—only a woman," said Jacques; "and if you will listen, I will describe my ideal in a moment."
"Yes," said Belle-bouche, looking away; for his eyes were fixed upon her with such meaning that she could not return his gaze.
"First," said Corydon, sighing, "she should be young—that is to say, she should unite the grace and innocence of childhood with the splendor and fascination of the fully-developed woman. This is most often found at seventeen—therefore she should be just seventeen."
Belle-bouche was scarcely more than seventeen, as we know. The cunning Jacques went on.
"She should be a blonde, with light golden hair, eyes as azure as the heavens, and, as one great poet said of another, 'with a charming archness' in them."
"Yes," murmured Belle-bouche, whom this description suited perfectly.