Chapter 57 - Page 2

Saint-Aignan, with the most
modest air he could assume, "that if he cherishes such a hope as that, no
one has ever known anything about it, for he conceals it in the very
depths of his heart." A flattering murmur of applause greeted this
profession of faith on behalf of the shepherd.

"And Galatea?" inquired Madame. "I am impatient to see a hand so
skillful as yours continue the portrait where Virgil left it, and finish
it before our eyes."

"Madame," said Saint-Aignan, "I am indeed a poor dumb post beside the
mighty Virgil. Still, encouraged by your desire, I will do my best."

Saint-Aignan extended his foot and hand, and thus began: - "White as
milk, she casts upon the breeze the perfume of her fair hair tinged with
golden hues, as are the ears of corn. One is tempted to inquire if she
is not the beautiful Europa, who inspired Jupiter with a tender passion
as she played with her companions in the flower-spangled meadows. From
her exquisite eyes, blue as azure heaven on the clearest summer day,
emanates a tender light, which reverie nurtures, and love dispenses.
When she frowns, or bends her looks towards the ground, the sun is veiled
in token of mourning. When she smiles, on the contrary, nature resumes
her jollity, and the birds, for a brief moment silenced, recommence their
songs amid the leafy covert of the trees. Galatea," said Saint-Aignan,
in conclusion, "is worthy of the admiration of the whole world; and if
she should ever bestow her heart upon another, happy will that man be to
whom she consecrates her first affections."

Madame, who had attentively listened to the portrait Saint-Aignan had
drawn, as, indeed, had all the others, contented herself with
accentuating her approbation of the most poetic passage by occasional
inclinations of her head; but it was impossible to say if these marks of
assent were accorded to the ability of the narrator of the resemblance of
the portrait. The consequence, therefore, was, that as Madame did not
openly exhibit any approbation, no one felt authorized to applaud, not
even Monsieur, who secretly thought that Saint-Aignan dwelt too much upon
the portraits of the shepherdesses, and had somewhat slightingly passed
over the portraits of the shepherds. The whole assembly seemed suddenly
chilled. Saint-Aignan, who had exhausted his rhetorical skill and his
palette of artistic tints in sketching the portrait of Galatea, and who,
after the favor with which his other descriptions had been received,
already imagined he could hear the loudest applause allotted to this last
one, was himself more disappointed than the king and the rest of the
company. A moment's silence followed, which was at last broken by Madame.

"Well, sir," she inquired, "What is your