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 “I have no dress for the occasion; give me that veil of golden gauze!” said Psyche to the saleswoman.

“That is very dear!”

“I will pay you for it with this pearl.”

. . . . “With that pearl! Are you a princess, then!”

Psyche then took the veil, and she bound it round her loins, just as she used to do before.

“I will give you a wreath of fresh roses as well!” said the woman, pleased, and put the flowers on her head.

She smiled, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was decked out with those flowers as a victim for the altar; that all the people who were making merry and dancing were bedecked as victims. She went on. Through the round gold gate she entered the city; the squares were seen in the distance, connected with very broad streets; square palaces of marble and bronze, of jasper and malachite, round cupolas and finely pointed minarets, glistered in the sun as if conjured up by magic. They stretched far away, and right behind the blue mountains rose the royal castle, a Babel of pinnacles and towers