Then Daphne spoke to him tenderly, but her soothing voice caused him
keener pain than his old friend's stern one.

To sit still longer seemed unendurable, and, with the intention of
regaining his lost composure by pacing to and fro, he began to walk;
but at the first free step he struck against the little table in front of
Thyone's couch, and as it upset and the vessels containing water fell
with it, clinking and breaking, he stopped and, as if utterly crushed,
groped his way back, with both arms outstretched, to the armchair he had
quitted.

If he could only have seen Daphne press her handkerchief first to her
eyes, from which tears were streaming, and then to her lips, that he
might not hear her sobs, if he could have perceived how Thyone's wrinkled
old face contracted as if she were swallowing a colocynth apple, while at
the same time she patted his strong shoulder briskly, exclaiming with
forced cheerfulness: "Go on, my boy! The steed rears when the hornet
stings! Try again, if it only soothes you! We will take everything out
of your way. You need not mind the water-jars. The potter will make new
ones!"

Then Hermon threw back his burning head, rested it against the back of
the chair, and did not stir until the bandage was renewed.

How comfortable it felt!

He knew, too, that he owed it to Daphne; the matron's fingers could not
be so slender and delicate, and he would have been more than glad to
raise them to his lips and thank her; but he denied himself the pleasure.