neither Amyntas, nor
Alphesiboeus, nor Tityrus, nor indeed any of the handsomest shepherds of
the country, were to be compared to Tyrcis; that Tyrcis was as superior
to all other men, as the oak to all other trees, as the lily in its
majesty to all other flowers. She drew even such a portrait of Tyrcis
that Tyrcis himself, who was listening, must have felt truly flattered
at it, notwithstanding his rank as a shepherd. Thus Tyrcis and Amyntas
had been distinguished by Phyllis and Galatea; and thus had the secrets
of two hearts revealed beneath the shades of evening, and amid the
recesses of the woods. Such, Madame, is what the Dryad related to me;
she who knows all that takes place in the hollows of oaks and grassy
dells; she who knows the loves of the birds, and all they wish to convey
by their songs; she who understands, in fact, the language of the wind
among the branches, the humming of the insect with its gold and emerald
wings in the corolla of the wild-flowers; it was she who related the
particulars to me, and I have repeated them."

"And now you have finished, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan, have you not?"
said Madame, with a smile that made the king tremble.

"Quite finished," replied Saint-Aignan, "and but too happy if I have
been able to amuse your royal highness for a few moments."

"Moments which have been too brief," replied the princess; "for you
have related most admirably all you know; but, my dear Monsieur
de Saint-Aignan, you have been unfortunate enough to obtain your
information from one Dryad only, I believe?"

"Yes, Madame, only from one, I confess."

"The fact was, that you passed by a little Naiad, who pretended to know
nothing at all, and yet knew a great deal more than your Dryad, my dear
comte."

"A Naiad!" repeated several voices, who began to suspect that the story
had a continuation.

"Of course close beside the oak you are speaking of, which, if I am
not mistaken, is called the royal oak--is it not so, Monsieur de
Saint-Aignan?"

Saint-Aignan and the king exchanged glances.

"Yes, Madame," the former replied.

"Well, close beside the oak there is a pretty little spring, which
runs murmuringly over the pebbles, between banks of forget-me-nots and
daffodils."

"I believe you are correct," said the king, with some uneasiness, and
listening with some anxiety to his sister-in-law's narrative.

"Oh! there is one, I can assure you," said Madame; "and the proof of it
is, that the Naiad w