She waited until he was sleeping, and then she slipped away and took up the lamp in one hand and the dagger in the other. Returning, she held the lamp above him and looked down at him.
What were her joy and awe and wonder to find it was no monster, but Eros, the God of Love himself who was her husband.
As she still bent above him, entranced by his beauty, one drop of hot oil from the lamp fell upon his shoulder.
Then Eros sprang up from his slumbers and looked at her with grief and indignation.
“What have you done!” he cried. “Oh, unhappy one! Why did you not obey my warnings? Now I must leave you, and grief and sorrow must be your portion. Farewell, unhappy Psyche.”
With these words he vanished from before her, and at the same time the palace and the gardens and all that were in them faded away like the mist of the morning.
Psyche was alone upon a wide and desolate plain. Dawn was breaking, and a cold wind blew about her.
“Eros! Eros!” cried Psyche; but no one answered.
Then Psyche wept aloud in bitter despair; and she rose and wrapped her garments about her against the wind and set off across the plain.
For a long time she journeyed on, but whither she knew not, until at last she came to a wood and heard a sound of piping. She followed the sound and presently came to a place where the god Pan sat, playing upon his pipes, and all about him creatures of the wood, both large and small, had gathered to listen to his music.