pollo that with it disappeared the
stars, that the moon became black, and the whole world was covered
with the darkness of Chimera.

"When shall we decide the wager?" asked Hermes.

"Immediately. To-day!"

"During her husband's absence she sleeps in the store. You can stand
in the street before the door. If she raises the curtain and opens the
gate, I have lost my wager."

"You have lost it already!" exclaimed the Far-darting Apollo.

The summer lightning does not pass from the East to the West as
quickly as he rushed over the salt waves of the Archipelago. There he
asked Amphitrite for an empty turtle-shell, put around it the rays of
the sun, and returned to Athens with a ready formiga.

In the city everything was already quiet. The lights were out, and
only the houses and temples shone white in the light of the moon,
which had risen high in the sky.

The store was dark, and in it, behind a gate and a curtain, the
beautiful Eryfile was asleep. Apollo the Radiant began to touch the
strings of his lyre. Wishing to awake softly his beloved, he played at
first as gently as swarms of mosquitoes singing on a summer evening
on Illis. But the song became gradually stronger like a brook in the
mountain after a rain; then more powerful, sweeter, more intoxicating,
and it filled the air voluptuously.

The secret Athena's bird flew softly from the Acropolis and sat
motionless on the nearest column.

Suddenly a bare arm, worthy of Phidias or Praxiteles, whiter than
Pantelican marble, drew aside the curtain. The Radiant's heart stopped
beating with emotion. And then Eryfile's voice resounded:

"Ha! You booby, why do you wander about and make a noise during the
night? I have been working all day, and now they won't let me sleep!"

"Eryfile! Eryfile!" exclaimed Silver-arrowed. And he began to sing:

"From lofty peaks of Parnas--where there ring
In all the glory of light's brilliant rays
The grand sweet songs which inspired muses sing
To me, by turns, in rapture and praise--
I, worshiped god--I fly, fly to thee,
Eryfile! And on thy bosom white
I shall rest, and the Eternity will be
A moment to me--the God of Light!"

"By the holy flour for sacrifices," exclaimed the baker's wife,
"that street boy sings and makes love to me. Will you go home, you
impudent!"

The Radiant, wishing to pursuade her that he was not a common mortal,
threw so much light from his person, that all the earth was lighted