The next day she came to me again, and said: "When I showed your portrait to the queen, she gazed at it a long time, and seemed lost in admiration; then she exclaimed, 'Who can have painted this? Is it possible that such a handsome man can exist in the world? Surely there is no one here like this!' I answered, 'O lady, your admiration is quite natural, such a handsome man is very rarely to be found, but still there might be such a one; and if this should be really the portrait of a young man, longing to see you--not only thus handsome, but of good birth, very learned, accomplished, and good-tempered --what would you say then?' 'What would I say? I say, that if he will be mine, all that I can give him in return, myself, my heart, my body, my life, will be all too little. But surely you are only deceiving me; there never can be such a charming person as this picture represents.' "In answer to this, I said: 'I am not deceiving you. There is really such a person, a young prince, who is staying here in disguise; he saw you when you were walking in the public park, at the feast of Spring, and immediately became a mark for the arrows of Kâma. Moved by his entreaties, and seeing how suited you are to each other, I have ventured to take this means of making his passion known to you. If you will but consent to see him, however difficult access to you may be, his courage, prudence, and ingenuity are so great, that he will certainly effect it; only say what your pleasure is.' Then, finding her quite disposed to see you, I told her your real name and birth. After reflecting some time, she said, 'Mother, I will not conceal from you a circumstance which his name brings to my memory. My father was a great friend of the deposed king, and their queens were very much attached to each other. It was settled between them, that if the one had a son, and the other a daughter, the two children should be engaged for marriage; but when the Queen Priyamvada had lost her sons, my father gave me in marriage to Vikatavarma. This young prince was really destined to be my husband, and I ought to have had him, instead of that ugly wretch, who is stupid, ignorant of all the arts of pleasing, brutal, rebellious, cruel, boastful, false, and, above all, most insulting in his behaviour to me; only yesterday he ill-treated my favourite attendant, Pushkarika, and gathered flowers from a plant which I had especially cherished, to give to one of his paramours, a low vulgar woman, who is trying to put herself on an equality with me. He is in every way unsuited to me, and my misery is so great, that I am ready to catch at any means of escape from it. It was wretched enough while I thought on no one else, but now that I have heard of this charming young man, and seen his portrait, I will endure it no longer, whatever the consequences may be. Therefore, let him come to-morrow evening to the Madhavi bower in the garden. I am impatient