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 CHAPTER XVIII

“, stay!” said Bacchus entreatingly.

“No, no, let me alone!”

“With you goes all joy from the feast; Psyche, stay!”

“I will not always sing, dance, drink. No, no, let me alone!”

She pushed him away from her; she pushed the satyrs away from her; she broke the round dance of the Bacchantes, who, drunken, shouted with drunken eyes and wide-open, screaming mouths.

“Psyche! Psyche!” screamed all.

She laughed loudly and coquettishly, like a spoilt child.

“I will come back to-morrow, when you are sober!” she said with a mocking laugh. “Your voices are hoarse, your song is out of tune, your last grapes were sour! I will only have the sweet of your feast, and the bitter I will leave to you. Spread out your panther