“Ay, O Sejanus. Why am I kept here? Why are my parents prisoners? Why is Gyges to be arrested?”
“I cannot tell thee, my graceful creature. Pray be calm. Sit thou down near me.”
Psyche still remained in the corner of the cell. She was frightened at the familiar tone of her oppressor. She asked, “What dost thou wish here?”
“I have come to relieve the monotony of thy solitude.”
“Then leave me. I prefer to be alone,” she pleaded.
“So thou art the dancing-girl who delightedst the people with thy impersonations?” he asked, disregarding Psyche’s trembling appeal. “I have seen thee dance. Truly thou hast mastered well that art.”
“I am a dancing-girl. ’Tis an honest profession.”
“Ay; all professions are sometimes honest.”
“The life of a dancing-girl is sometimes misunderstood,” she replied.
“Nay, O pretty one, not by me. The lives of dancing-girls are never monotonous. A lover is always at hand. Presents brighten their fleeting days. Loving words and tender glances cheer their lives. Art thou not lonely in this cell?”