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 to say that she did not know. And she hid her face in his breast.

“Tell me, Psyche, what is the matter?”

She would have liked to tell him, but she could not; a stronger power kept her back.

“Does not Psyche feel happy? Does she long for the Chimera?”

She laid her little hand upon his lips.

“Don’t speak about him. I am not worthy of him. I am not worthy of you, Eros.”

He kissed her very gently.

“What does my Psyche think about? May I not leave her any more, alone by the brook?”

“No, no!” said she hastily, and drew his arms round her. . . .” No,” she continued quickly. “Don’t leave me alone any more. Always stay by me. Protect me from myself, O Eros. . . .!”

“Is little Psyche ill?”

She nodded in the affirmative, and laid her burning head upon his breast; she nestled against him and shut her feverish eyes.

He stayed by her, and all around was still, and the cupids appeared fluttering in the air. That night she slept in Eros’ arms. She awoke for a moment out of her sleep; far