basalt rock, and it waved its mane and switched its tail.
“Splendid, beautiful horse,” said Psyche, “who are you?”
“I am the Chimera,” answered the horse, and his voice sounded deep as the clang of a brazen clock.
“Can you really speak?” asked Psyche, astonished. “And fly? Oh, how happy you must be!!”
“Why have you called me, little princess?” said the Chimera.
“I wanted to see you quite near,” replied Psyche. “I only saw you dart like winged lightning through the air, so soon were you away again; and I was always sorry when I could not see you any more. Then I became, oh, so sad!”
“And why did you want to see me quite near, little princess with the wings?”
“I find you so beautiful. I have never seen anything so beautiful; I did not know that anything so beautiful existed. What are you? A horse you are not. Nor a dragon either, nor a man. What are you?”
“I am the Chimera.”
“Where do you come from?”
