Besides,

  The roots of trees are washed by many a stream
  That breezes ruffle; and the flowers’ red gleam
  Is dimmed by pious smoke; and fearless fawns
  Move softly on the close-cropped forest lawns.

Charioteer.  It is all true.

King (after a little).  We must not disturb the hermitage.  Stop here while I dismount.

Charioteer.  I am holding the reins.  Dismount, your Majesty.

King (dismounts and looks at himself).  One should wear modest garments on entering a hermitage.  Take these jewels and the bow. (He gives them to the charioteer.) Before I return from my visit to the hermits, have the horses’ backs wet down.

Charioteer.  Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.)

King (walking and looking about).  The hermitage!  Well, I will enter. (As he does so, he feels a throbbing in his arm.)

  A tranquil spot!  Why should I thrill? 
    Love cannot enter there—­
  Yet to inevitable things
    Doors open everywhere.

A voice behind the scenes.  This way, girls!

King (listening).  I think I hear some one to the right of the grove.  I must find out. (He walks and looks about.) Ah, here are hermit-girls, with watering-pots just big enough for them to handle.  They are coming in this direction to water the young trees.  They are charming!

  The city maids, for all their pains,
    Seem not so sweet and good;
  Our garden blossoms yield to these
    Flower-children of the wood.

I will draw back into the shade and wait for them. (He stands, gazing toward them.  Enter SHAKUNTALA, as described, and her two friends.)

First friend.  It seems to me, dear, that Father Kanva cares more for the hermitage trees than he does for you.  You are delicate as a jasmine blossom, yet he tells you to fill the trenches about the trees.

Shakuntala.  Oh, it isn’t Father’s bidding so much.  I feel like a real sister to them. (She waters the trees.)

Priyamvada.  Shakuntala, we have watered the trees that blossom in the summer-time.  Now let’s sprinkle those whose flowering-time is past.  That will be a better deed, because we shall not be working for a reward.

Shakuntala.  What a pretty idea! (She does so.)

King (to himself).  And this is Kanva’s daughter, Shakuntala. (In surprise.) The good Father does wrong to make her wear the hermit’s dress of bark.

  The sage who yokes her artless charm
    With pious pain and grief,
  Would try to cut the toughest vine
    With a soft, blue lotus-leaf.

Well, I will step behind a tree and see how she acts with her friends. (He conceals himself.)

Shakuntala.  Oh, Anusuya!  Priyamvada has fastened this bark dress so tight that it hurts.  Please loosen it. (ANUSUYA does so.)