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 descending. With his broad wings he glided down. Now he stood still, snorting his breath in a cloud of steam. She glided gently down his back on to the sand, and laughed, and gave a sigh of relief!

“Rest now, here, Psyche!” said he dejectedly, and the quiver in his bronze-sounding voice startled her; she laughed no more.

“Rest now. Look! here are dates, and there is a spring. The soft violet night is rapidly spreading over the sky and cooling the too warm air. A few pale stars are already glistening. Now quench your thirst; now refresh yourself and rest. . . . This is a pleasant oasis. Now sleep, little Psyche. Tomorrow will soon be here. . . . Farewell!”

She looked at him with wondering eyes. She threw herself on his broad, powerful, heaving breast, and round his arched neck she threw her trembling arms.

“What. . . .? What do you say, Chimera?” she asked, pale with fear. “What are you going to do? What do you mean? Surely you will rest here with me in the soft violet night and amongst the blue flowers? With me you will refresh yourself with dates and water? You will let me sleep in the shadow