‘You have a stout heart, then. Perhaps you have been reading poetry with Minerva, and are caught in one of her Platonic man-traps.’
‘She set one, but I broke away.’
‘You have a stout leg, then. But where are you, where are you? Is it Hebe? It can hardly be Diana, she is so cold. Is it a Muse, or is it one of the Graces?’
Ixion again shook his head.
‘Come, my dear fellow,’ said Cupid, quite in a confidential tone, ‘you have told enough to make further reserve mere affectation. Ease your heart at once, and if I can assist you, depend upon my exertions.’
‘Beneficent God!’ exclaimed Ixion, ‘if I ever return to Larissa, the brightest temple in Greece shall hail thee for its inspiring deity. I address thee with all the confiding frankness of a devoted votary. Know, then, the heroine of my reverie was no less a personage than the Queen of Heaven herself!’
‘Juno! by all that is sacred!’ shouted Cupid. ‘I am here,’ responded a voice of majestic melody. The stately form of the Queen of Heaven advanced from a neighbouring bower. Ixion stood with his eyes fixed upon the ground, with a throbbing heart and burning cheeks. Juno stood motionless, pale, and astounded. The God of Love burst into excessive laughter.
‘A pretty pair!’ he exclaimed, fluttering between both, and laughing in their faces. ‘Truly a pretty pair! Well! I see I am in your way. Good-bye!’ And so saying, the God pulled a couple of arrows from his quiver, and with the rapidity of lightning shot one in the respective breasts of the Queen of Heaven and the King of Thessaly.