‘Take a glass of nectar, Juno,’ said Cupid, with eyes twinkling with mischief; ‘and perhaps Ixion will join us.’
This was the most solemn banquet ever celebrated in Olympus. Everyone seemed out of humour or out of spirits. Jupiter spoke only in monosyllables of suppressed rage, that sounded like distant thunder. Apollo whispered to Minerva. Mercury never opened his lips, but occasionally exchanged significant glances with Ganymede. Mars compensated, by his attentions to Venus, for his want of conversation. Cupid employed himself in asking disagreeable questions. At length the Goddesses retired. Mercury exerted himself to amuse Jove, but the Thunderer scarcely deigned to smile at his best stories. Mars picked his teeth, Apollo played with his rings, Ixion was buried in a profound reverie.
It was a great relief to all when Ganymede summoned them to the presence of their late companions.
‘I have written a comment upon your inscription,’ said Minerva to Ixion, ‘and am anxious for your opinion of it.’
‘I am a wretched critic,’ said the King, breaking away from her. Juno smiled upon him in the distance.
‘Ixion,’ said Venus, as he passed by, ‘come and talk to me.’
The bold Thessalian blushed, he stammered out an unmeaning excuse, he quitted the astonished but good-natured Goddess, and seated himself by Juno, and as he seated himself his moody brow seemed suddenly illumined with brilliant light.
‘Is it so?’ said Venus.
‘Hem!’ said Minerva.
‘Ha, ha!’ said Cupid.