On a perfect day, not long after, the two prisoners were seated upon the rocks, looking dreamily at the sea. “Where are thy thoughts, my child?” “I was thinking,” said Psyche, “how happy must be the spirit of the sea!” “Happier than that of the mountains?” asked Agrippina. “Ay, my lady; the mountains cast shadows,” replied Psyche. “But the waters, dear child, cover unfathomable abysses.” “True, O lady. Never until now have I lived by the sea. In my prison cell alone, with no sound save that of the breaking of the waves of silence on the shores of meditation, I have sometimes gathered sparkling objects, sprays of broken thoughts and iridescent dreams. At other times I have seen living and crawling objects that frightened me.” “Didst thou have no companionship in the camp, my poor child?” “I was always alone, my lady. My jailer was a mute, and for months I heard no words.” “Then how didst thou pass the weary hours?” “I would sometimes sing a hymn to the immortal mother of us all. The melody of hymns in the sea of silence, gentle lady, flashes away like bright sparkles from a gem.” “The gods are sometimes deaf to hymns and prayers, my child.” “Ah, beautiful prayers are never lost, my lady. Yonder where the sun sets are immeasurable seas. Are they not bordered by a land of promise? Ah, O lady, the whole world is an ear. Our petitions may seem to fall like stones into dark waters, but, believe me, they do reach the divinities. Let us pray to Juno this night that sweet Peace, like a new-born child, may come to our minds.” “Speak on, my child. Thy words are gentle. They soothe my soul.” “From the window of my cell,” continued Psyche, “so intently have I gazed upon the peaceful Campagna that mine eyes have become intoxicated. The Campagna seemed the bottom of a sea, the purple mountains a shore; ’twas an oblivion of peace.” Agrippina closed her eyes while Psyche was speaking. From time to time she would move her lips and form silent words. “Ay, my lady,” continued Psyche, “but I would awaken from that revery. My life, my grief, would again burden me.” “Ah, dear Psyche, life is, after all, but a dream between two slumbers. Mine has been a fantasy of terror.” “Look, yonder at the provision boat, floating along the water like a sea-gull!” suddenly exclaimed Psyche. “See how it leans; the sails are well filled,” replied Agrippina. “’Tis a land breeze. Perchance it breathes news from Rome,” said Psyche, hopefully. “Thou art always hopeful, my child!” “See how it dips! See how it rises! ’Tis a cheering sight,” cried Psyche, her eyes sparkling and her lips parting in a pleasing smile. “Sad news is sometimes borne by smiling faces,” said Agrippina, trying to restrain the happy flow of Psyche’s spirits. “Ah, my lady, not on this day! How fresh is the air! How bright are the skies! The birds fly faster! See the boat dance upon the waters! Ah, I seem to breathe an aroma that affects me like a happy song.”