delicate in her princessly nakedness, he threw around her loins a light, thin veil, richly adorned with pearls, and which she fastened in a knot. Then he gave her a mirror, and she beheld herself very beautiful, crowned like a queen, and smiled with contentment.
“Am I a queen?” she said softly. “Am I happy? Eros, do you love me? Is this the happiness of the Present? Eros, do I love you out of gratitude and respect, my husband and my king . . . .?”
He led her gently away, through the porticos, down the crystal steps. Cupids hovered about them, the lark sang high in the heavens, the roses perfumed the air, the brook murmured gently. The spring rejoiced to welcome them, and behind the shrubs the pipes played a duet. The hill-slope of the horizon was peaceful, and above, the heaven, arched like a turquoise chalice.
Everything sang, everything was fragrant; in the grass buzzed thousands of insects; about the flowers fluttered butterflies; and where Psyche, on her husband’s arm, walked along the flower-beds, all the flowers bowed to her in homage—the white slender lilies, the violets with laughing eyes, tall flowers and short
