Sir, I come to beg your majesty not to be surprised to see me in this condition; three afflicting pieces of news that I have just now received all at once are the cause of my heavy grief, of which the tokens you see are but very faint resemblances.  Alas! what is that news, madam, said I?  The death of the queen, my dear mother, said she; that of the king my father killed in battle; and that of one of my brothers, who is fallen headlong into it.

I was not ill pleased that she made use of this pretext to hide the true cause of her grief, and I thought she had not suspected me to have killed her gallant.  Madam, said I, I am so far from blaming your grief, that I assure you I am willing to bear what share of it is proper for me.  I should very much wonder if you were insensible of so great a loss.  Mourn on, your tears are so many proofs of your good-nature; but I hope, however, that time and reason will moderate your grief.

She retired into her apartment, where, giving herself wholly up to sorrow, she spent a whole year in mourning and afflicting herself.  At the end of that time, she begged leave of me to build a burying-place for herself within the bounds of the palace, where she would continue, she told me, to the end of her days.  I agreed to it, and she built a stately palace, with a cupola, that may be seen here, and she called it the Palace of Tears.  When it was finished, she caused her gallant to be brought thither from the place that she made him to be carried the same night that I wounded him; she had hindered his dying by the drink she gave him, and carried to him herself every day after he came to the Palace of Tears.

Yet, with all her enchantments, she could not cure the wretch; he was not only unable to walk, and to help himself, but had also lost the use of his speech, and gave no sign of life but only by his looks.  Though the queen had no other consolation but to see him, and to say to him all that her foolish passion could inspire her with, yet every day she made him two long visits; I was very well informed of all this, but pretended to know nothing of it.

One day I went out of curiosity to the Palace of Tears to see how the princess employed herself, and, going to a place where she could not see me, I heard her speak thus to her gallant:  I am afflicted to the highest degree to see you in this condition; I am as sensible as you are yourself of the tormenting grief you endure; but, dear soul, I always speak to you, and you do not answer me.  How long will you be silent? speak only one word:  Alas! the sweetest moments of my life are those I spend here in partaking of your grief.  I cannot live at a distance from you, and would prefer the pleasure of always seeing you to the empire of the universe.

At these words, which were several times interrupted by her sighs and sobs, I lost all patience; and, discovering myself, came up to her, and said, Madam, you have mourned enough, it is time to give over this sorrow which dishonours us both; you have too much forgotten what you owe to me and to yourself.  Sir, says she, if you have any kindness or complaisance left for me, I beseech you to put no force upon me; allow me to give myself up to mortal grief; it is impossible for time to lessen it.