"Ask me not. My master told me not to say."
"And I forbid thee not to say. Tell me forthwith!"
So fierce and terrible did he look that the old man trembled before him.
"May my lord forgive me!" said he. "It is Alcestis, his wife."
"Alcestis!" cried Heracles. "And he would not share his sorrow with me, his friend, but let me come in and feast and sing while he went out to bury her. Woe is me! I thought he loved me."
"It was to spare thee pain that he did not tell thee, master."
"How came she to die?" asked Heracles, and took off the vine-leaves from his head, and poured out the wine upon the floor.
Then the old man told him the whole tale.
"Where have they buried her?" he asked, when it was ended.