When her sisters, wicked women, who had heard of her happiness, and were invited to share it, arrived at the palace they were received by Psyche most cordially. She tenderly embraced them, showed them her treasures, and bestowed such gifts as sisterly affection suggested. But their hearts were hard and cruel. More envious than before at the sight of such magnificence, they artfully planned to destroy their unsuspecting victim, who had been warned not to allow any idle curiosity about her husband, lest, by so doing, she might lose him forever. “Dearest sister,” they say, concealing their real feelings under a mask of sisterly kindness, “our love constrains us to make known to you that the being you call your husband is doubtless some malignant spirit who dares not show to you his hideous person, and who will some day destroy you. Take therefore, we entreat, this lamp and dagger; conceal the lamp in the tapestry of your chamber, and in the night satisfy your curiosity. If he prove the monster we suspect, you can kill him in his sleep and return to the home of your distracted parents.” Poor Psyche was overwhelmed with sorrow, and after much talking they so wrought on both her fear and curiosity that she reluctantly promised to heed their advice. As night approached her courage failed, and all the past kindness of her husband coming in mind made her design appear most ungrateful, yet she must keep her promise, and at any risk, satisfy the doubts that were distracting her. So when all voices were hushed, the lights out, and deep silence reigned in the palace, she took the lamp from the place where she had concealed it, and, with trembling, drew near the couch where she saw her husband lying fast asleep. What was her glad surprise when she found him none other than the beautiful god Cupid himself. His countenance was so radiant that the very light of the revealing lamp seemed to grow dim. On his shoulders were wings of delicate whiteness, covered with a tremulous down. His bow and arrows lay at his feet. As she stood over him, entranced by the sight, the oil in the lamp, as if to punish her crime, bubbled over and the burning liquid fell on the shoulder of the sleeper. Immediately he started up, and looking reproaches stronger than words, at once flew away in silence. Alas! for the imprudent wife’s distress, when the husband she adored left her in anger, and, as she feared, never to return. The deceitful sisters, themselves deceived by a false tale of Cupid’s regard for them, miserably perished. When the indignant Venus learned that Cupid, instead of punishing, had taken to his palace her detested rival, and then suffered injury at her hand, she threatened vengeance and sent Mercury in search of the object of her hate. Her wounded son was cared for, but not without upbraiding him for his conduct, and proposing such chastisement as anger mingling with maternal love suggested.