the mist glimmered the rosy desert and the little glistening stream.
But now she wiped away her tears, which trickled through her fingers, for she thought she saw . . . . and that was so improbable. She wiped her eyes again, and saw. She thought she saw . . . . and it was so improbable. . . . But yet it was so: she saw. She saw someone coming; along every winding of the brook, she saw someone approaching. . . . Who was it coming there? She knew not. . . . He came nearer and nearer. Was she dreaming? No, she was awake. He came, whoever he was. He was approaching. . . .
She remained sitting in the same attitude. And he came nearer and nearer, following the briny track, till he stood before the Sphinx. The Sphinx was so great and Psyche so little, that at first he did not see her. But because she was so white, with crimson wings, he saw her, a little thing red and white!
He approached between the feet of the Sphinx till he stood right before her.
He approached reverentially, because she had wept so much. When he was quite close, he knelt down and folded his hands.
