hope and with this fear that Louis
authorized Saint-Aignan to sketch the portraits of the shepherdesses,
Phyllis, Amaryllis, and Galatea.

"Very well, then; be it so," said Saint-Aignan, like a man who has made
up his mind, and he began.

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 a