"The birds all round her praises ever sing,
And 'neath her steps the flowers incessant spring."
"Your occupation here is delightful, isn't it?" said Madeleine to the peasant girl.
"No, 'tain't, miss—that it ain't. I gets nothink for all I does, and when I goes hoam at night I gets a good licking to the bargain."
"And you?" enquired Madeleine, turning to the herdsman, who was slinking off.
"I'm a little b-b-b-etter off nor hur," said the man, stuttering, "for I gets board and lodging—dasht if I doesn't—but I gets bread like a stone, and s-s-sleeps below a hedge—dasht if I doesn't."
"But where are your sheep, shepherd?" said Bribri.
"Hain't a got none," stuttered the man again, "dasht if I has."
"What!" exclaimed Madeleine in despair, "am I not to see the lovely lambkins bleating and skipping in the meadows on the banks of the Lignon, O Celadon?"
But Madame Deshoulieres was too much of a poetess to hear or see what was going on. She thought of nothing but the loves of Astrea, and heard nothing but the imaginary songs of contending Damons.
On their return to the chateau, Madeleine and Bribri complained that they had seen neither flock nor shepherdess.