Pascal--the handsomest of all the youths--he who sings the best--appears to avoid and to see her without love.

Franconnette is indignant at his neglect; she believes that he is hateful to her, when she reflects on his conduct; she prepares a terrible vengeance, and waits but the moment when, by a look, she shall make him her slave for ever.
Is it not always so! From all time a maiden so courted is sure to become vain and proud; and, young as she is, it is easy to see she is like the rest.

Proud she was, to a certain degree, and a coquette she was becoming--a rural one, however, not artful; she loved none, yet many hoped she did.
Her grandmother would often say to her--"My child, remember the country is not the town--the meadow is not a ball-room; you know well that we have promised you to the soldier, Marcel, who loves you, and expects you to be his wife.

You must conquer this fickleness of mind.

A girl who tries to attract all, ends by gaining none." A kiss and a laugh and a caress were the answer; and, while she bounded away, she would sing, in the words of the song-- "I have time enough, dear mother, Time enough to love him yet; If I wait and choose no other, All Love's art I should forget: And if all is left for one, 'Twere as well be loved by none." All this finished by creating much jealousy, suffering, and unhappiness; nevertheless, these shepherds were not of those that make lays full of grace and tenderness, and who, dying of grief, engrave their names on poplars and willows.