his wings! how broad his wings!! How weak I am compared to him. . . . A child, a weak child; a weak, naked child with little wings. . . . O Chimera, my Chimera, O Chimera of my desire, come back! Come back!! Come back!! I cannot live without you; and if you do not come again, Chimera, then I will not live any longer lonely in this high castle. I will throw myself into the cataract. . . .”
She stood up, her eyes looking eagerly into the empty air. She pressed her hands to her bosom, she wept, and her wings trembled as if from fever.
Then suddenly she saw the king, her father, sitting at the bow-window of his room. He did not see her, he was reading a scroll. But anxious lest he should see her trouble, her despair, and longing desire, she fled, along the battlements, the ramparts, through the passages and halls of the castle, till she came to the tower, where her nurse sat at her spinning-wheel, and then she fell down at the feet of the old woman and sobbed aloud.
“What is it, darling?” asked the old crone, frightened. “Princess, what is it?”
“I have hurt my wing!” sobbed Psyche.
