Her shoulders droop; her palms are reddened yet;
Quick breaths are struggling in her bosom fair;
The blossom o'er her ear hangs limply wet;
One hand restrains the loose, dishevelled hair.

I therefore remit her debt. (_He gives the two friends a ring. They
take it, read the name engraved on it, and look at each other_.)

_King_. Make no mistake. This is a present--from the king.

_Priyamvada_. Then, sir, you ought not to part with it. Your word is
enough to remit the debt.

_Anusuya_. Well, Shakuntala, you are set free by this kind
gentleman--or rather, by the king himself. Where are you going now?

_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). I would never leave him if I could help
myself.

_Priyamvada_. Why don't you go now?

_Shakuntala_. I am not _your_ servant any longer. I will go when I
like.

_King_ (_looking at_ SHAKUNTALA. _To himself_). Does she feel toward
me as I do toward her? At least, there is ground for hope.

Although she does not speak to me,
She listens while I speak;
Her eyes turn not to see my face,