ther went on reigning, making his sons, one after another, _yuwaraja_,
exactly as before.

III

So, then, when Aranyani ended, Babhru said with a smile: Aranyani, thy
story is foolish, and altogether wide of the mark, and it brings me
consolation rather than reproof. For very certainly thy father is not a
King, and has not an elixir, and will not live for ever. And when he
dies, thou wilt no longer be able to escape me, for we shall be alone
together in the wood.

Then said Aranyani: Babhru, thy confidence is very positive; and yet,
who knows? Who knows what may happen in the future? Count not, O Bruin,
with such ignorant presumption on finding me for ever at thy mercy in
the wood: even after the disaster, which ought not to have occurred to
thee, even in a dream. And even if my father be, as thou sayest, not a
King, I say, who knows? And all at once, she turned half round, facing
him directly as he sat beside her, with malice and provocation in her
eyes. And she said: Babhru, how if a King's son were suddenly to come
into the wood, and carry me away, as many stories tell of others? Did
not Dushmanta discover Shakuntala, in exactly such a wood? But thou wilt
say, she was more beautiful than I. And Babhru said gloomily: I will say
nothing of the kind: for thou art far more beautiful than Shakuntala or
anybody else. Then said Aranyani: Thou seest. So nothing is wanted to
make my case tally with her own, save only the King's son. And is not
the world full to the very brim, of Kings and their sons? And Babhru
exclaimed with a groan: Alas! Aranyani, thou art wounding my very heart,
and this is the very thing of which I am afraid. For thy only
preservation is, that this is a wood, into which nobody ever comes. And
all day long I tremble, lest in very truth some stranger should come
into the wood and see thee, and spread abroad the news of thy existence,
like the wind which carries everywhere the scent of a lotus, till at
length the bees come to plunder it of the honey it contains. Then,
indeed, all would be over, for thee as for me.

And Aranyani said, with mischief: O Bruin, what then? Wilt thou deny his
flower to the bee, and is not the true and proper place of every flower
either the wilderness, its origin, or the head of a King, its destiny
and end?

And once again, Babhru uttered a groan, and he exclaimed: Aranyani, thy
words are torture, and nothing whatever but the echo of my own fears.
But this much I will tel