‘This way,’ said Mercury.
‘This way,’ said Ganymede.
‘This way, this way!’ echoed the celestial crowd.
‘Mischief!’ cried Cupid; ‘I must save my victims.’
They were all upon the terrace. The Father of Gods and men, though both in a passion and a hurry, moved with dignity. It was, as customary in Heaven, a clear and starry night; but this eve Diana was indisposed, or otherwise engaged, and there was no moonlight. They were in sight of the pavilion.
‘What are you?’ inquired Cupid of one of the genii, who accidentally extinguished his candle.
‘I am a cloud,’ answered the winged genius.
‘A cloud! Just the thing. Now do me a shrewd turn, and Cupid is ever your debtor. Fly, fly, pretty cloud, and encompass yon pavilion with your form. Away! ask no questions; swift as my word.’
‘I declare there is a fog,’ said Venus.
‘An evening mist in Heaven!’ said Minerva.