"Oh, the poor child!" exclaimed the Voice, and an old man came forward and placed his brown and withered hand over the heart of Parvati.
"She has swooned," said he. "Come, follow me. We must lose no time; do you not see that a storm is impending? We must not remain an instant longer under the trees."
He began to walk rapidly on, holding the lantern in a way to light the path, on which I followed, carefully carrying the unconscious Princess.
We soon reached a great clearing, in the centre of which, leaning against a rock, was a little hut built of wooden planks.
"Here we are, this is my dwelling," said the man; "I am only a poor hermit, who has retired in disgust from the world, in order to live and meditate in solitude. I am denuded of all; I possess nothing. But the forest provides me with plants which nourish me. Some of them have wonderful virtues, which I trust will enable me to restore to life this lovely young girl."
The hut was so small that I could only thrust my head inside. I placed Parvati on the Hermit's bed of leaves, and he hung up the lantern. He then crushed between his hands an herb that had a pungent odour, which he caused the Princess to inhale, while he rubbed her temples and her wrists. To my great joy Parvati revived; she passed her hands across her eyes, and then, seeing me, she smiled.
"Oh! my dear Iravata," exclaimed she: "the terrible serpent did not strangle you! I was so terrified I thought I was dying!"
She then related to the Hermit all that had befallen us, and what a friend I had always been to her. He in his turn told how he had heard my cries and hastened to our assistance.
He was able to offer the Princess some delicate fruits, which she accepted gladly, as she had eaten nothing all day.
"Oh, Holy Man," said she, "is it possible that you live all alone in the depths of this forest? How sad and lonely you must find it!"