"Oh, just the thing!" exclaimed the innocent Daphnè. "We need a shepherd: and yet, no, no"—she added, for she was a little jealous of her sister—"'tis a lucky thing there is river between us."
"I hope he will find a bridge per passa lou riou d'amor."
Now, just at that moment Hector's mind was set on passing the river of Love. In casting his eyes all round in search of a passage, he perceived an old willow half thrown across the stream. With a little courage and activity, it was a graceful and poetical bridge. Hector resolved to try it. He rose and went right onward towards the tree; but, when he arrived, he couldn't help reflecting that, at that season, the river was immensely deep. He disdained the danger—sprang lightly up the trunk, and flung himself along one of the branches, dropping, happily without any accident, on the meadow of the Chateau d'Urtis. Little more was left for him to do; and that little he did. He went towards the fair shepherdesses. He tried to overcome his timidity—he overwhelmed the first sheep of the flock with his insidious caresses—and then, finding himself within a few feet of Amaranthe—he bowed, and smiled, and said, "Mademoiselle."
He was suddenly interrupted by a clear and silvery voice.
"There are no Mesdemoiselles here—there are only two shepherdesses,
Amaranthe and Daphnè."
Hector had prepared a complimentary speech for a young lady attending a flock of sheep—but he hadn't a word to say to a shepherdess.
He bowed again, and there was a pause.
"Fair Amaranthe," he said—"and fair Daphnè, will you permit a mortal to tread these flowery plains?"
Amaranthe received the speech with a smile, in which a little raillery was mingled. "You speak like a true shepherd," she said.
But Daphnè was more good-natured, and more touched with the politeness of the sportsman. She cast her eyes on the ground and blushed.