"Oh, grief!" exclaimed the Prince, falling at the Queen's feet. "For my sake, you have descended from your throne; you have left the palace of your ancestors, to kneel, sad and alone, in the shade of a temple,--you, the smiling divinity whom a whole nation adored." "I shall love this solitude, Iwakura," said she. "Here at least I am free; I am delivered from the affection of a husband whom I did not love, although he was a god. My thoughts shall be wholly yours." "Why will you not fly with me? Have we not suffered enough? You love me, and I only breathe because you are on this earth. Why should we torture ourselves thus? Come! Let us exile ourselves! You are my country; my world is the spot where your feet rest! What do we care for what the gossips say? The celestial music of our love will drown their despicable voices. What does the bird who soars aloft, intoxicated with light, care for the hiss of the reptiles writhing in the swampy mire?" "Hush, friend!" said she; "do not make me repent my wish to see you once more." "Why will you not hear me? why are you so merciless, so cruel? If your husband has taken another wife, you are free." "No, Prince, I have not fallen so low; the Mikado has added one more to the number of his wives, but he has not raised her to the rank which I held. I am his equal, and he is still my lord and master. If I were really free, despite the blame I might incur, I would drain the nuptial cup with you, and I would live wherever you liked." "Ah! I will kill the man who parts us!" cried the Prince, whose mind began to wander. "Silence, Iwakura!" said the Queen, in a grave voice. "Behold the dress I wear; think what I am. Henceforth I belong to this world no more; its fevers, its follies can touch me no longer. Purified by the divine flame of the Sun, I must meditate upon her mysterious and creative essence, become absorbed in her splendor, let her rays penetrate my being, identify myself with her light, and become as pure as she, until the day when my soul shall fly hence and receive its merited reward." "Forgive me!" said the Prince. "What matters one man's despair? I was mad to entreat you. See, I am calm now,--calm as the dead in their tombs. Forgive me for offending your ears by my too human words." "I have power to pardon you now," said she; "and I absolve you with all my soul. Rise, friend! we must part." They retraced their steps. At the end of this path, bathed in diffused light, all would be over for them; they must part to meet no more. Involuntarily the high-priestess slackened her pace. The Prince's sudden calm terrified her; she felt assured that it was the result of an irrevocable resolve. He was silent, and gazed at her with a peaceful expression. "He means to die," thought she. But she felt that nothing she might say would shake him in his determination. They had reached the end of the garden-walk, and advanced along the terrace. "Farewell!" said she.