CHAPTER XVIII
“Psyche, stay!” said Bacchus entreatingly.
“No, no, let me alone!”
“With you goes all joy from the feast; Psyche, stay!”
“I will not always sing, dance, drink. No, no, let me alone!”
She pushed him away from her; she pushed the satyrs away from her; she broke the round dance of the Bacchantes, who, drunken, shouted with drunken eyes and wide-open, screaming mouths.
“Psyche! Psyche!” screamed all.
She laughed loudly and coquettishly, like a spoilt child.
“I will come back to-morrow, when you are sober!” she said with a mocking laugh. “Your voices are hoarse, your song is out of tune, your last grapes were sour! I will only have the sweet of your feast, and the bitter I will leave to you. Spread out your panther
