"Has he blue eyes or brown?" asked the elder sister.
"I—why—O, blue eyes," said Psyche.
"And his hair," inquired the second sister, "is it straight or curling, black or fair?"
"It's—it's straight and—and brown," faltered poor Psyche, who had never before uttered a lie.
"Now, see here, my child," said the elder sister, "I can tell from your answers that you've never seen this precious husband of yours. Is not that the case?"
Psyche nodded, the tears running down her cheeks.
"But he's so good to me," she whispered. "And I promised I wouldn't try to see him."
"Good to you! You deluded innocent, of course he's good to you! What did the oracle say? It's plain to be seen that the prophecy has come true and that you are wedded to some fearful monster, who is kind to you now that he may kill and devour you by-and-by."
At length, for they were older than Psyche, and she had always been accustomed to taking their advice, they convinced her that her only safety lay in discovering at once what sort of a monster had her in its possession.
"Now mind," they counseled her, "this very night conceal a lamp and a dagger where you can reach them easily, and as soon as he is asleep, steal upon him. You shall see what you shall see. And if he's the distorted monster we think him, plunge the knife into his heart."