"Look!"

Apollo looked and was astonished.

Never Attica--never the whole of Greece, produced a lovelier flower
than was this woman. She sat by a table on which was a lighted
lamp, and was writing something on marble tables. Her long drooping
eyelashes threw a shadow on her cheeks, but from time to time she
raised her head and her eyes, as though she were trying to remember
what she had to write, and then one could see her beautiful eyes, so
blue that compared with them the turquoise depths of the Archipelago
would look pale and faded. Her face was white as the sea-foam, pink as
the dawn, with purplish Syrian lips and waves of golden hair. She was
beautiful, the most beautiful being on earth--beautiful as the dawn,
as a flower, as light, as song! This was Eryfile.

When she dropped her eyes she appeared quiet and sweet; when she
lifted them, inspired. The Radiant's divine knees began to tremble;
suddenly he leaned his head on Hermes' shoulder, and whispered:

"Hermes, I love her! This one or none!"

Hermes smiled ironically, and would have rubbed his hands for joy
under cover of his robe if he had not held in his right hand the
caduceus.

In the mean while the golden-haired woman took a new tablet and
began to write on it. Her divine lips were disclosed and her voice
whispered; it was like the sound of Apollo's lyre.