Psyche knew not what reply to make. His voice had become soft and enticing. She said: “When can I see my parents? Persecute me no longer, O Sejanus! I am innocent.”
“Thou art not persecuted, O pretty maiden! Thy cell is bright; we have darker ones below the ground. Thy food is good; we sometimes only give bread and water. Thou art lonely and I have come to relieve thy solitude.”
“Then leave me,” said Psyche, in a commanding tone.
“Leave thee? Why, I too am often lonely. This day I feel the need of some one to share that loneliness with me. Come, sit thou down.”
“Leave me, I pray thee!”
“Thou art a dancing-girl and hungerest after love.”
“Leave me, I say, I understand thee not,” she cried.
“Dancing-girls need little instruction in the art of love.”
“I have told thee that they are misjudged.”
“I have told thee that they are not misjudged by me. Come, confess thy thoughts to me.”