Sac. Mighty king, when I had gone half way to the cottage, I perceived that my bracelet of thin stalks had fallen from my wrist; and I return because my heart is almost convinced that you must have seen and taken it. Restore it, I humbly entreat, lest you expose both yourself and me to the censure of the hermits.
Dushm. Yes, on one condition I will return it.
Sac. On what condition? Speak———
Dushm. That I may replace it on the wrist to which it belongs.
Sac. [Aside.] I have no alternative.
Dushm. But in order to replace it, we must both be seated on that smooth rock.
Dushm. [Taking her hand.] O exquisite softness! This hand has regained its native strength and beauty, like a young shoot of Cámalatà; or it resembles rather the god of love himself, when, having been consumed by the fire of Hara's wrath he was restored to life by a shower of nectar sprinkled by the immortals.
Sac. [Pressing his hand.] Let the son of my lord make haste to tie on the bracelet.
Dushm. [Aside, with rapture.] Now I am truly blessed. That phrase, the son of my lord, is applied only to a husband.—[Aloud.]—My charmer, the clasp of this bracelet is not easily loosened; it must be made to fit you better.
Sac. [Smiling.] As you please.
Dushm. [Quitting her hand.] Look, my darling;
