Sister and brother. Yet, for thy sake, Queen, Thy kindred sit as men with spirit gone; In search of thee a hundred twice-born rove Over all lands." But (O King Yudhisthir!) Hardly one word she heard before she broke With question after question on the man, Asking of this dear friend and that and this; All mingled with quick tears, and tender sighs, And hungry gazing on her brother's friend, Sudêva--best of Bráhmanas--come there. Which soon Sunandâ marked, watching them speak Apart, and Damayanti all in tears. Then came she to her mother, saying: "See, The handmaid thou didst give me talks below With one who is a Bráhman, all her words Watered with weeping; if thou wilt, demand What this man knows." Therewith swept forth amazed The mother of the Raja, and beheld How Nala's wife spake with the Bráhmana. Whom straight she bade them summon; and, being brought, In this wise questioned: "Knowest thou whose wife, Whose daughter, this one is; and how she left Her kin; and wherefore, being heavenly-eyed And noble-mannered, she hath wandered here? I am full fain to hear this; tell me all, No whit withholding; answer faithfully-- Who is our slave-girl with the goddess gait?" The Bráhmana Sudêva, so addressed, Seating himself at ease, unto the Queen Told Damayanti's story, how all fell. Sudêva said: "There reigns in majesty King Bhima at Vidarbha; and of him The Princess Damayanti here is child; And Virasena's son, Nala, is Lord Over Nishadha, praised-in-song and wise; And of that Prince this lady is the wife. In play his brother worsted Nala--stripped Of lands and wealth the Prince; who fled his realm, Wandering with Damayanti--where, none knew. In quest of Damayanti we have roamed The earth's face o'er, until I found her here In thy son's house, the King's--the very same, Since like to her for grace no woman lives Of all fair women. Where her eyebrows meet A pretty mole, born with her, should be seen A little lotus-bud--not visible By reason of the dust of toil which clouds Her face and veils its moon-like beauty--that The wondrous Maker on the rare work stamped To be His Mark. But as the waxing moon Goes thin and darkling for awhile, then rounds The crescent's rims with splendors, so this Queen Hath lost not queenliness. Being now obscured, Soiled with the grime of chores, unbeautified, She shows true gold. The fire which trieth gold Denoteth less itself by instant heat Than Damayanti by her goodlihood. As first sight knew I her. She bears that mole." Whilst yet Sudêva spake (O King of men!), Sunandâ from the slave's front washed away The gathered dust, and forth that mark appeared 'Twixt Damayanti's brows, as when clouds break,