"Oh—if you wish to pass through these meadows," she said—"we shall be"—
"We were going to do the honours of our reception room," continued
Amaranthe, "and offer you a seat on the grass."
"'Tis too much happiness to throw myself at your feet," replied
Hector, casting himself on one knee.
But he had not looked where he knelt, and he broke Daphnè's crook.
"Oh, my poor crook!" she said—and sighed.
"What have I done?" cried Hector. "I am distressed at my stupidity—I will cut you another from the ash grove below. But you loved this crook," he added—"the gift, perhaps, of some shepherd—some shepherd? —no, some prince; for you yourselves are princesses—or fairies."
"We are nothing but simple shepherdesses," said Amaranthe.
"You are nothing but beautiful young ladies from the capital," said Hector, "on a visit at the Chateau d'Urtis. Heaven be praised—for in my walks I shall at least catch glimpses of you at a distance, if I dare not come near. I shall see you glinting among the trees like enchantresses of old."
"Yes, we are Parisians, as you have guessed—but retired for ever from the world and its deceitful joys."
Amaranthe had uttered the last words in a declamatory tone; you might have thought them a quotation from her mamma.