“And is my dove content? And is life good?” and she replied: “Most utterly content. If life is good to my lord it is delight to me. But you, O, heart’s dearest—and are you not content? See how the world is white with blossom dropping perfumed dew, and the blue birds flash through them, and there is piping and singing and the flutter of wings through all the happy gardens and the humming of black bees mad for honey. And this morning as I walked with Gautami the slender-waisted, close, close hidden in the jasmin flowers I found a small nest—small and heart-holding and in it four blue jewels of eggs warm from the mother’s breast—warm as love and home, and blue as the skies, and I looked and said—‘One, two, three, four. This is a prophecy. These are the three sons and the one daughter I shall bear to my lord. First—three sons, one by one, and then a daughter so lovely that all Kings of the earth shall desire her, and the three strong brothers shall guard her beauty—that is fit only for the enjoyment of the King of the Three Worlds! And we will hide this lovely one in the heart of the gardens until he comes. Now, since I have seen this portent, four there must be. Less there cannot. But possibly more!’” And she leaned back, flashing the sunshine of her eyes in his, and he laughed back holding her by the two hands, half dazzled with her beauty and gladness. “This is life,” he said—“and the cold dreams are gone. They rose like mists from Rohini in autumn mornings—and in the rising of the sun they disperse. And the coming of my son has driven them into the night where they belong.” Therefore great gladness reigned in the House of Gardens and doubt was forgotten, and in his pride, willing to make his son more free and yet security more secure, the Maharaja made another and most beautiful garden across the city where Siddhartha might take his pleasure if he wearied of the Gardens of Rohini, and the Princess approved this with her wisdom, saying: “We must stretch the tether, lest the bird guess he is not free to fly into the distances.” And this was a most exquisite garden, with great pools and lakes where white cranes stood meditating all day among blue lotus blossoms—the very essence of the blue of the waters, and it was made a Paradise where none might take life or harm the creatures of earth or air or water, and the wild swans floated as pure and fearless upon those lakes as upon the bosom of holy Manasa in the sky-uplifted bosom of the mountains, and the deer were not shy but walked beside men, and with great eyes, silent though full of speech, told them the hidden histories of their wild hearts. And on a certain day Siddhartha sent a message to his father. “Great father, if my Paradise is ready, give me permission to drive through the city to-morrow that I may enjoy it with my cousins Ananda and Devadatta and the Sakya lords.”