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Friend, you are in luck, being painted, with us for spectators.

[Heroine laughs on seeing face.

O lovely-eyed one! the springing of the blossom of a smile is seen on your shoot-like lower lip, but the fruit is seen elsewhere, namely, in the eyes of me as I gaze.

Madam, what have you done?

Why, are you not painted?

O daughter of a slave! the royal family are present. What shall I do to you?—Alas! notwithstanding your royal presence, I am blackened by this daughter of a slave. How can I remain here? I will be off.

[Exit.

His reverence Átreya is vexed with me. I will go and conciliate him.

O Chaturiká! whither do you go, leaving me all alone?