To tell you the plain truth, I am waiting for Nike. She has given me an appointment here.
Dionysus.
I have not seen her since we arrived on this island.
Æsculapius.
You have seen her, but you have not recognised
her. She goes about in a perpetual incognito. Poor thing, in our flight from Olympus she lost all her attributes—her wings dropped off, her laurel was burned, she flung her armour away, and her palm-tree obstinately refused to up-root itself.
Dionysus.
No doubt at this moment it is obsequiously rustling over the odious usurper.
Æsculapius.
It was always rather a poor palm-tree. What Nike misses most are her wings. She was excessively dejected when we first arrived, but Pallas very kindly allowed her to take care of the jewel for half an hour. Nike—if still hardly recognisable—is no longer to be taken for Niobe.