"Oh, shepherds often fell into brooks! Nothing could be more in character. Well, we are to play that you are a shepherd called—not Celadon; we sha'n't take our names from d'Urfé,—let me think—"
"Silvius," suggested Dick, remembering the shepherds of Arden, in Shakespeare.
"Yes, Silvius is a good name. And I shall be Amaryllis."
"And where are the sheep?"
"We shall have to imagine the sheep at present, though I can obtain some easily enough. Well, you shall come every day in a boat, in the afternoon, and I will be waiting somewhere near the place at which you landed this morning."
"And must I come as wet as I was this morning?"
"No. You shall be a dry shepherd hereafter. Come about two o'clock, if the weather is clear; but remember, I am not to know where you come from, or whither you go when you leave, any more than you are to know who I am. Now, that is all settled! Till to-morrow, Silvius!"
"But how am I to get home to-day? Would you have me swim?"
"No. Alphonse will show you out by the gate to-day, and you can go by land to your lodge,—remember, shepherds dwell in lodges. But after this you will come in a boat, and leave it at the shore to return by. So, till to-morrow, Silvius!"
"Till to-morrow, Amaryllis!" said Dick, with a bow not very shepherd-like. Obedient to a word from the girl, Alphonse, who had heeded nothing of her talk if he had heard it, conducted Dick past the house and through more of the park, to a gate, which opened on a tree-lined avenue. Dick turned to the left, and a walk of about a mile and a half brought him to St. Denis, where he dined and spent the rest of the day thinking of his odd adventure.