Psyche was a charming maiden, eighteen years old. She had an exquisite face, with large soulful eyes, like a young doe’s, a mouth like that of a sculptured Aphrodite, and pretty nose, cheeks and forehead like those of the beautiful daughter of Zeus and Leda. All her features blended so harmoniously with the refined sinuous lines and curves of her body that she formed a perfect figure of beauty. Like the beloved of Eros, whose name she bore, she would have been persecuted by the jealous Venus if she had not had, like that other Psyche, a devoted protector. When a little girl, she had taken part in religious processions. As she grew older and her beauty developed, she led these processions. Instinctively, while taking part in them, she learned so easily to portray the pure emotions by her pose, gait, and dance, that she had been drawn gradually into theatrical spectacles. At first Alcmaeon objected to Psyche’s dancing in public; but her graceful movements so pleased him, and her success in pleasing others was so pronounced, that he finally consented. It was marvellous what force she could put into her movements. By her grace of action alone, she could represent the tragic Iocasta, the majestic Clytemnestra, and the pleading Penelope. Whether she were delineating the happy Aspasia, the outraged Lucretia, or the proud Cornelia, she budded and bloomed in the attentive air of her audience like a soft flower of feminine grace. She could so adjust her costume that she appeared like a butterfly floating about the stage, trembling in her pauses as if she were hovering over a flower. Her greatest characterizations were those of the inquisitive and mournful Psyche, the nimble and fleeting Daphne, and the tearful and grief-stricken Niobe. In these representations she was an embodied thought of a Phidias or Praxiteles. At the games to be given by Nero, Agrippina’s son, on his arrival at the manly age, she was to portray the character of Niobe at Pompey’s Theatre. “Art thou not sorry that this dance will be thy last, my daughter?” asked Hera. “Ay, my mother.” “The wife of Gyges must lead a more serious life than that of a dancing-girl,” said Alcmaeon. “Dost thou yet know where thy new home is to be?” asked Hera. “Nay, my mother. Gyges wishes to surprise me.” “Wherever it be, O daughter, thy home will be a pleasant one,” said Alcmaeon. “Gyges is a good and noble son of Greece. He inherits his father’s mild temper and goodness. He is wealthy. Thy new home will contain more luxuries than thy old one. But hearts cannot beat with love for thee more than ours do, my daughter.” “As the wife of Gyges, I am no less the daughter of Alcmaeon. When I wed, thou losest not a daughter, thou gainest another son,” said Psyche, sweetly. “Oh that Gannon were here to-night!” said Hera. “Does not thy heart yearn for our son, my Alcmaeon?” “Ay, my Hera. ’Twas I who allowed him to go to the camp. Would that I had found him another position!”