Chapter 57

Chapter LVII:
Conclusion of the Story of a Naiad and of a Dryad.

"Phyllis," said Saint-Aignan, with a glance of defiance at Montalais,
such as a fencing-master would give who invites an antagonist worthy of
him to place himself on guard, "Phyllis is neither fair nor dark, neither
tall nor short, neither too grave nor too gay; though but a shepherdess,
she is as witty as a princess, and as coquettish as the most finished
flirt that ever lived. Nothing can equal her excellent vision. Her
heart yearns for everything her gaze embraces. She is like a bird,
which, always warbling, at one moment skims the ground, at the next rises
fluttering in pursuit of a butterfly, then rests itself upon the topmost
branch of a tree, where it defies the bird-catchers either to come and
seize it or to entrap it in their nets." The portrait bore such a strong
resemblance to Montalais, that all eyes were directed towards her; she,
however, with her head raised, and with a steady, unmoved look, listened
to Saint-Aignan, as if he were speaking of an utter stranger.

"Is that all, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan?" inquired the princess.

"Oh! your royal highness, the portrait is but a mere sketch, and many
more additions could be made, but I fear to weary your patience, or
offend the modesty of the shepherdess, and I shall therefore pass on to
her companion, Amaryllis."

"Very well," said Madame, "pass on to Amaryllis, Monsieur de Saint-
Aignan, we are all attention."

"Amaryllis is the eldest of the three, and yet," Saint-Aignan hastened to
add, "this advanced age does not reach twenty years."

Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, who had slightly knitted her brows at
the commencement of the description, unbent them with a smile.

"She is tall, with an astonishing abundance of beautiful hair, which she
fastens in the manner of the Grecian statues; her walk is full of
majesty, her attitude haughty; she has the air, therefore, rather of a
goddess than a mere mortal, and among the goddesses, she most resembles
Diana the huntress; with this sole difference, however, that the cruel
shepherdess, having stolen the quiver of young love, while poor Cupid was
sleeping in a thicket of roses, instead of directing her arrows against
the inhabitants of the forest, discharges them pitilessly against all
poor shepherds who pass within reach of her bow and of her eyes."

"Oh! what a wicked shepherdess!" said Madame. "She may some day wound
herself with one of those arrows she discharges, as you say, so
mercilessly on all sides."

"It is the hope of shepherds, one and all!" said Saint-Aignan.

"And that of the shepherd Amyntas in particular, I suppose?" said Madame.

"The shepherd Amyntas is so timid," said