Poor Actaeon had been so bewildered, at sight of Diana’s beauty and at her anger, that he had stood motionless and silent, rooted to the spot. […] Then, at last, she remembered the words of the dying centaur. […] And at last, it no longer seemed so dreadful a thing. […] Then at last Circe saw that she must at least pretend to grant his wish. […] But Galatea was only frightened at the great, shaggy monster, for such he seemed to her, and at the roar of his awful voice.