Subhadra, proud of her skill, is looking round towards Arjuna, biting her lower lip with her ivory teeth, her hair streaming in the chariot-created wind; two or three braids moistened with perspiration lie in a curve on her temples.
In another, Sakuntala, with the desire of seeing Dushmanta, is pretending to take a thorn from her foot.

Anasuya and Priamboda are smiling.

Sakuntala, between anger and shame will not raise her face.
She cannot look at Dushmanta, nor yet can she leave the spot.
In another, Prince Abhimaya, armed for battle, and, like the young lion, eager for glory, is taking leave of Uttora that he may go to the field.

Uttora, saying that she will not let him go, is standing against the closed door weeping, with her hands over her eyes.
It was past twelve when Nagendra entered the room.

The night was fearful.