"Alcibiades, for cakes on honey from Hymettus for Hetera Chrysalis, three minae. He never verifies bills, and then he once gave me in Stoa a slap on the shoulder--we will write four minae. He is stupid; let him pay for it. And then that Chrysalis! She must feed with cakes her carp in the pond, or perhaps Alcibiades makes her fat purposely, in order to sell her afterwards to a Phoenician merchant for an ivory ring for his harness." Again Apollo paid no attention to the words--he was enchanted with the voice alone and whispered to Hermes: "This one or none!" But Maya's son suddenly covered the house, the apparition disappeared, and it seemed to the Radiant Apollo that with it disappeared the stars, that the moon became black, and the whole world was covered with the darkness of Chimera. "When shall we decide the wager?" asked Hermes. "Immediately. To-day!" "During her husband's absence she sleeps in the store. You can stand in the street before the door. If she raises the curtain and opens the gate, I have lost my wager." "You have lost it already!" exclaimed the Far-darting Apollo. The summer lightning does not pass from the East to the West as quickly as he rushed over the salt waves of the Archipelago. There he asked Amphitrite for an empty turtle-shell, put around it the rays of the sun, and returned to Athens with a ready formiga. In the city everything was already quiet. The lights were out, and only the houses and temples shone white in the light of the moon, which had risen high in the sky. The store was dark, and in it, behind a gate and a curtain, the beautiful Eryfile was asleep. Apollo the Radiant began to touch the strings of his lyre. Wishing to awake softly his beloved, he played at first as gently as swarms of mosquitoes singing on a summer evening on Illis. But the song became gradually stronger like a brook in the mountain after a rain; then more powerful, sweeter, more intoxicating, and it filled the air voluptuously. The secret Athena's bird flew softly from the Acropolis and sat motionless on the nearest column. Suddenly a bare arm, worthy of Phidias or Praxiteles, whiter than Pantelican marble, drew aside the curtain. The Radiant's heart stopped beating with emotion. And then Eryfile's voice resounded: "Ha! You booby, why do you wander about and make a noise during the night? I have been working all day, and now they won't let me sleep!" "Eryfile! Eryfile!" exclaimed Silver-arrowed. And he began to sing: "From lofty peaks of Parnas--where there ring In all the glory of light's brilliant rays The grand sweet songs which inspired muses sing To me, by turns, in rapture and praise-- I, worshiped god--I fly, fly to thee, Eryfile! And on thy bosom white I shall rest, and the Eternity will be A moment to me--the God of Light!" "By the holy flour for sacrifices," exclaimed the baker's wife, "that street boy sings and makes love to me. Will you go home, you impudent!"