there.  She welcomes him, and in the same breath upbraids him.  Some other lady has surely found favour in his eyes.  What fair wind has wafted him back to her?  He replies that business alone has kept him from her; he hopes that all is well with her.  With her, indeed, all is well, and there is no change; but she fears that his heart is changed.  Surely, surely he has found mountains upon mountains of joy elsewhere, even now, perhaps, he is only calling on his way homeward from some haunt of pleasure.  What pleasure can there be away from her? answers he.  Indeed, his time has not been his own, else he would have come sooner.  Why, then, did he not send his servant to explain?  Tarokaja here puts in his oar, and protests that, between running on errands and dancing attendance upon his lord, he has not had a moment to himself.  “At any rate,” says the master, “I must ask for your congratulations; for my suit, which was so important, has prospered.”  The lady expresses her happiness, and the gentleman then bids his servant tell her the object of their visit.  Tarokaja objects to this; his lord had better tell his own story.  While the two are disputing as to who shall speak, the lady’s curiosity is aroused.  “What terrible tale is this that neither of you dare tell?  Pray let one or other of you speak.”  At last the master explains that he has come to take leave of her, as he must forthwith return to his own province.  The girl begins to weep, and the gentleman following suit, the two shed tears in concert.  She uses all her art to cajole him, and secretly produces from her sleeve a cup of water, with which she smears her eyes to imitate tears.  He, deceived by the trick, tries to console her, and swears that as soon as he reaches his own country he will send a messenger to fetch her; but she pretends to weep all the more, and goes on rubbing her face with water.  Tarokaja, in the meanwhile, detects the trick, and, calling his master on one side, tells him what she is doing.  The gentleman, however, refuses to believe him, and scolds him right roundly for telling lies.  The lady calls my lord to her, and weeping more bitterly than ever, tries to coax him to remain.  Tarokaja slyly fills another cup, with ink and water, and substitutes it for the cup of clear water.  She, all unconcerned, goes on smearing her face.  At last she lifts her face, and her lover, seeing it all black and sooty, gives a start.  What can be the matter with the girl’s face?  Tarokaja, in an aside, explains what he has done.  They determine to put her to shame.  The lover, producing from his bosom a box containing a mirror, gives it to the girl, who, thinking that it is a parting gift, at first declines to receive it.  It is pressed upon her; she opens the box and sees the reflection of her dirty face.  Master and man burst out laughing.  Furious, she smears Tarokaja’s face with the ink; he protests that he is not the author of the trick, and the girl flies at her lover and rubs his face too.  Both master and servant run off, pursued by the girl.