She, meanwhile, bids the lyre to sound for their delight, and the playing is heard: she bids the pipes to move, the quire to sing, and the music and the singing come invisibly, soothing the mind of the listener with sweetest modulation.

Yet not even thereby was their malice put to sleep: once more they seek to know what manner of husband she has, and whence that seed.

And Psyche, simple over-much, forgetful of her first story, answers, "My husband comes from a far country, trading for great sums.

He is already of middle age, with whitening locks." And therewith she dismisses them again.
And returning home upon the soft breath of Zephyrus one cried to the other, "What shall be said of so ugly a lie?
He who was a young man with goodly beard is now in middle life.

It must be that she told a false tale: else is she in very truth ignorant what manner of man he is.