When she had dressed, the sad lady of the imperial palace came down with all the ladies and maidens, and with steps hastened by the anguish she felt, she went to the church where Tirant's body lay. She stepped to the top of the great cenotaph, and when she saw Tirant's body she felt her heart would break, and yet passion lifted her spirit and she went over to his bed with warm tears flowing from her eyes, and threw herself upon Tirant's body. The suffering woman kissed his cold body. Everyone who heard her weep shed great tears of grief. Then she said:
"I want to go looking for the soul of the one who was my Tirant in the blessed places where it rests. And I do so want to keep you company in death since in life, where I loved you so much, I have not been able to serve you. Oh, you ladies and maidens, do not cry! Save your tears for a more opportune time. It's enough for me to cry and lament, since these are my sorrows."
When she had said these words, she fell upon the body in a faint. She was quickly lifted away from the body, and the doctors helped her regain consciousness. When she had recovered her senses, the lady again threw herself upon the body, kissing Tirant's cold mouth. She tore at her hair and clothing, along with the skin of her breasts and her face, this sad lady, more grievous than any other. Stretched out on his body, she kissed his cold mouth, mixing her warm tears with Tirant's cold ones. She wanted to talk, but could not, and she knew no words sad enough to express her grief. With trembling hands she opened Tirant's eyes which she kissed first with her mouth, and then filled with all the tears flowing from her own eyes. And it seemed as though Tirant, while dead, was crying for the grief of the living Carmesina. And she was crying blood, for she had exhausted all her tears. So she cried over his body— she who had lost everything to him who lost his life for her— and with words that would be enough to break precious stones, diamonds and steel itself, she cried grievously:
"Don't think, my soul, that I will keep you from Tirant for long. I will give burial to your body and to mine. The dead bodies will be embraced in one grave, and together we will share the same glory in heaven."
The emperor, distressed by his daughter's words, said:
"My daughter's sorrow and tears will never end. My good knights, pick her up, and take her to my palace, and leave her in her chambers, either with her consent or by force."
And so it was done. Her father, desperate, went with her, saying:
"My daughter, you are the lady of all I possess. Do not go to such an extreme, for your grief is death to me. Stop your crying and put on a happy face for the people to see."
The princess answered:
"Oh emperor, my lord, life-giver of this miserable daughter! Your Majesty truly wants to console my grief! Oh, poor me, I cannot hold back my tears!"