round her knees. In the evening she nestled in the king’s beard, in the folds of his tabard, but she durst not tell him that she had ridden a wondrous winged horse and flown with him through the air. But on the days that her beloved horse had come and taken her away with him, carefully flapping his wings, her face shone with golden happiness in the apotheosis of her soul, and through the gloomy halls, where sacred spiders, which were never disturbed, wove their webs, rang Psyche’s high voice, and from the faded gobelin the low vault and the motionless iron knights strangely re-echoed the words of her joyous song.
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