“He is gone,” thought she. “Will he come again? Or have I seen him for the first and last time?”
“As a dream he came from far-off regions, and to still farther regions he has gone.... Oh, how dull the world seems! How dead is the horizon! And how dizzy I feel.... My wing pains me....”
With her hand she smoothed the wrinkle out of her wing; she stroked it till it was smooth again, and tears ran down her cheeks.
“Horrid wings! They cannot fly, they cannot follow the strong Chimera! I’m in such trouble, such trouble!! But ... no.... Is that trouble? Is that happiness? I know not.... I am very happy...! I am so sorrowful.... How beautiful he was! how strong, how sleek, how splendid, how quick, how wise, how noble, how broad his wings! how broad his wings!! How weak I am compared to him.... A child, a weak child; a weak, naked child with little wings.... O Chimera, my Chimera, O Chimera of my desire, come back! Come back!! Come back!! I cannot live without you; and if you do not come again, Chimera, then I will not live any longer lonely in this high castle. I will throw myself into the cataract....”
She stood up, her eyes looking eagerly into the empty air. She pressed her hands to her bosom, she wept, and her wings trembled as if from fever.
Then suddenly she saw the king, her father, sitting at the bow-window of his room. He did not see her, he was reading a scroll. But anxious lest he should see her trouble, her despair, and longing desire, she fled, along the battlements, the ramparts, through the passages and halls of the castle, till she came to the tower, where her nurse sat at her spinning-wheel, and then she fell down at the feet of the old woman and sobbed aloud.
“What is it, darling?” asked the old crone, frightened. “Princess, what is it?”
“I have hurt my wing!” sobbed Psyche.
And she showed the nurse the wrinkle in her wing, which was not yet quite gone.
Then, with soothing voice and wrinkled hand, the old nurse slowly stroked the painful wing till it became smooth.