Ath. And does he care for military glory? has he ambition? Or is he a mere neatherd?
Herm. I couldn’t say for certain. But he is a young man, so it is to be presumed that distinction on the field of battle is among his desires.
Aph. There, you see; I don’t complain; I say nothing when you whisper with her. Aphrodite is not so particular as some people.
Herm. Athene asked me almost exactly the same as you did; so don’t be cross. It will do you no harm, my answering a plain question.—Meanwhile, we have left the stars far behind us, and are almost over Phrygia. There is Ida: I can make out the peak of Gargarum quite plainly; and if I am not mistaken, there is Paris himself.
Hera. Where is he? I don’t see him.
Herm. Look over there to the left, Hera: not on the top, but down the side, by that cave where you see the herd.
Hera. But I don’t see the herd.
Herm. What, don’t you see them coming out from between the rocks,—where I am pointing, look—and the man running down from the crag, and keeping them together with his staff?
Hera. I see him now; if he it is.
Herm. Oh, that is Paris. But we are getting near; it is time to alight and walk. He might be frightened, if we were to descend upon him so suddenly.