—Well, by the way, why am I here? Prometheus said at last. What am I accused of? Do you know, waiter, you seem to know everything?
—My goodness no, pretended the waiter. All that I know is that it is only preliminary detention. After they have condemned you, you will know.
—Well, so much the better! said Prometheus. I always prefer to know.
—Good-bye, said the waiter; it is late. With you it is astonishing how the time flies.... But tell me: your eagle? What has become of him?
—Bless me! I have thought no more of him, said Prometheus. But when the waiter had gone Prometheus began to think of his eagle.
HE MUST INCREASE BUT I MUST DECREASE
And as Prometheus was bored in the evening, he called his eagle.—The eagle came.
—I have waited a long time for thee, said Prometheus.
Why didst thou not call me before? replied the eagle.
For the first time Prometheus looked at his eagle, casually perched upon the twisted bars of the dungeon. In the golden light of the sunset he appeared more spiritless than ever; he was grey, ugly, stunted, surly, resigned, and miserable; he seemed too feeble to fly, seeing which Prometheus cried with pity.