Dushm. With what hope of success could this groundless fable have been invented?
Sárn. [Angrily.] The minds of those whom power intoxicates are perpetually changing.
Dushm. I am reproved with too great severity.
Gaut. [To Sacontalá.] Be not ashamed, my sweet child; let me take off thy mantle, that the king may recollect thee.
Dushm. [Aside, looking at Sacontalá.] While I am doubtful whether this unblemished beauty which is displayed before me has not been possessed by another, I resemble a bee fluttering at the close of night over a blossom filled with dew; and in this state of mind, I neither can enjoy nor forsake her.
Ward. [Aside to Dushmanta.] The king best knows his rights and his duties; but who would hesitate when a woman, bright as a gem, brings lustre to the apartments of his palace?
Sárn. What, O king, does thy strange silence import?
Dushm. Holy man, I have been meditating again and again, but have no recollection of my marriage with this lady. How then can I lay aside all consideration of my military tribe, and admit into my palace a young woman who is pregnant by another husband?
Sac. [Aside.] Ah! Wo is me—Can there be a doubt even of our nuptials?—The tree of my hope, which had risen so luxuriantly, is at once broken down.
