“Much more beautiful than the Bacchantes!” he answered. “But they are also very nice. Tell me, wouldn’t you like to see them?”
Psyche was very inquisitive, and he noticed it.
“Won’t you just see them?” he repeated temptingly.
“Where?” said Psyche.
“Look ... there!” He pointed in the distance with his finger.
On the hill Psyche saw forms madly whirling round in a dance.
“Those are the Bacchantes!” said the Satyr. Psyche laughed.
“How madly they whirl round!” she exclaimed. “Are they always so merry?”
“Oh, we are always dancing,” said the Satyr. “In the wood it is always pleasure. We play at tag with one another, we drink the juice of the grapes, and we dance till nightfall.”
“Psyche! Psyche!” called a voice.