—That our love could be so charming.
—Ah! Prometheus....
—Tell me, my sweet bird! Why am I shut up here?
—What does that matter to thee? Am I not with thee?
—Yes; it matters little! but art thou pleased with me, beautiful eagle?
—Yes, if thou thinkest I am beautiful.
III
It was spring-time; around the bars of the tower the fragrant wisteria was in flower.
—One day we will go away, said the eagle.