_Princess of Eboli_. Love is alone the price of love. It is The invaluable diamond, which I give Freely away—or else, forever hid, Must bury—like the noble-hearted merchant Who all unmoved by the Rialto's gold, Or king's displeasure, to the mighty sea Gave back his pearl, too proud to part with it Below its price! Again she fancifully styles the passion, or rather the charms which awaken it, “the sister hues of one divine beam—the leaves upon one lovely flower.” The prince is enchanted with her wit and beauty, and the crisis approaches. _Princess of Eboli_. Long since had I departed from this court, And from the world departed; buried me Within the cloister's walls, but that one tie Still held me back—one tie, that to the world Binds me with force resistless. Ah! perchance A phantom! yet so dear to me! I love; And I am——not beloved. _Carlos_. You are—you are! Truly as God doth dwell in Heaven. I swear it— You are—unspeakably. _Princess of Eboli_. And dost thou swear it! That was indeed mine angel's voice! Yes—yes! If thou dost swear it—Carlos—then indeed Do I believe——I am! This avowal on the lady's part is understood; but the prince—though he opens his arms to receive her when in the transport of affection she throws herself into them—has no idea of returning in coin the love so unexpectedly offered to him. A sudden thought has struck him; it is no less than to make the enamored princess a confidant of his attachment to his mother-in-law. He does not dream of the existence of such a thing as feminine jealousy; but is proceeding, in accordance with his mad design, to acquaint her with his love for another, when she suddenly interrupts his communication by her exclamations of horror and surprise. The truth flashes upon her mind; and in an agony of shame she demands her key and letters. She had a few moments before shown him a letter to her from the king, which he retains in his possession. Carlos refuses to give up the letters, and leaves her to mortification and regret. Reasoning upon what she has seen and heard, she conjectures that the queen is her fortunate rival; nor can she imagine the love of the prince unreturned by its object, however elevated and passionless her royal mistress has hitherto appeared.