PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA [fanning her.  In a tone of affection.]—­Dearest Sakoontala, is the breeze raised by these broad lotus leaves refreshing to you?

SAKOONTALA.—­Dear friends, why should you trouble yourselves to fan me?

          [Priyamvada and Anasuya look sorrowfully at one another.]

KING.—­Sakoontala seems indeed to be seriously ill. [Thoughtfully.]Can
it be the intensity of the heat that has affected her? or does my heart
suggest the true cause of her malady? [Gazing at her passionately.]
Why should I doubt it? 
    The maiden’s spotless bosom is o’erspread
    With cooling balsam; on her slender arm
    Her only bracelet, twined with lotus stalks,
    Hangs loose and withered; her recumbent form
    Expresses languor.  Ne’er could noon-day sun
    Inflict such fair disorder on a maid—­
    No, love, and love alone, is hereto blame.

PRIYAMVADA [aside to Anasuya.]—­I have observed, Anasuya, that Sakoontala has been indisposed ever since her first interview with King Dushyanta.  Depend upon it, her ailment is to be traced to this source.

ANASUYA.—­The same suspicion, dear Priyamvada, has crossed my mind.  But I will at once ask her and ascertain the truth. [Aloud.] Dear Sakoontala, I am about to put a question to you.  Your indisposition is really very serious.

SAKOONTALA [half-rising from her couch].—­What were you going to ask?

ANASUYA.—­We know very little about love-matters, dear Sakoontala; but for all that, I cannot help suspecting your present state to be something similar to that of the lovers we have read about in romances.  Tell us frankly what is the cause of your disorder.  It is useless to apply a remedy, until the disease be understood.

KING.—­Anasuya bears me out in my suspicion.

SAKOONTALA [aside].—­I am, indeed, deeply in love; but cannot rashly disclose my passion to these young girls.

PRIYAMVADA.—­What Anasuya says, dear Sakoontala, is very just.  Why give so little heed to your ailment?  Every day you are becoming thinner; though I must confess your complexion is still as beautiful as ever.

KING.—­Priyamvada speaks most truly. 
    Sunk is her velvet cheek; her wasted bosom
    Loses its fulness; e’en her slender waist
    Grows more attenuate; her face is wan,
    Her shoulders droop;—­as when the vernal blasts
    Sear the young blossoms of the Madhavi,
    Blighting their bloom; so mournful is the change,
    Yet in its sadness, fascinating still,
    Inflicted by the mighty lord of love
    On the fair figure of the hermit’s daughter.

SAKOONTALA.—­Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of my malady than to you; but I should only be troubling you.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.—­Nay, this is the very point about which we are so solicitous.  Sorrow shared with affectionate friends is relieved of half its poignancy.