AGL. I have but one word more to say. This prince who loves you, sways the winds, gives us Zephyr's wings for a chariot, and every moment lavishes on you new pleasures, when he thus openly breaks the order of nature, may perhaps mingle some little imposture with so much love. Perhaps this palace is nothing more than an enchantment; these gilt ceilings, these mountains of wealth, with which he buys your affection, so soon as he shall be weary of your caresses, will vanish in a moment. You know as well as ourselves what power lies in spells. PSY. In my turn, what cruel alarms I feel! AGL. Our friendship seeks your good only. PSY. Farewell, sisters, we must close our meeting; I love, and fear lest he should grow impatient; go, and to-morrow, if I may, you shall see me, either happier or crushed by the deepest anguish. AGL. We go to apprise the king of the new glory, the excess of bliss which heaven showers upon you. CID. We go to relate to him the surprising and marvellous tale of so pleasing a change. PSY. Trouble him not, sisters, with your suspicions, and when you describe to him this charming empire.... AGL. We both know what we must conceal and what speak, and need no lessons. ZEPHYR _carries off_ PSYCHE'S _sisters in a cloud, which descends to the earth, and in which he bears them rapidly away._ SCENE III.--LOVE, PSYCHE. LOVE. You are alone at last. I can once more without your importunate sisters as witnesses declare to you what sway eyes so fair have won over me, and how extreme is the delight that a sincere ardour inspires when once it has locked two hearts together. I can unfold to you the loving eagerness of my enraptured soul, and swear that, enslaved to you alone, its rapture has no other aim than to behold this ardour followed by a similar ardour, to conceive no other wish but to bind my vows to your desires, and make all that pleases you my only delight. But wherefore does a cloud of sadness seem to dim the brightness of those beautiful eyes? Is there aught which you can want in these abodes? Scorn you the homage of the vows here paid to you? PSY. No, my Lord! LOVE. What is it then? And to what must I attribute my misfortune? You sigh less from love than from grief. The roses of your cheek are faded, a token of secret sorrow. Scarce are your sisters gone than you sigh of regret. Ah! my Psyche, when two hearts are swayed by an equal passion, can their sighs have a different object? and when their love is true, and the loved one nigh, is there room to sigh for relatives? PSY. That is not the cause of my sorrow. LOVE. Is it the absence of a rival, and a favoured rival too, that causes this neglect?