ed, I
longed most fondly for a friend. And now, ere long, a crown will rest
upon my head, a nation bend before me as their king. And now more
earnestly than ever do I seek one who can share with me the joys and
cares of my high lot,--a woman true and noble, to bless me with her
love.

Ione. And could not the Princess Irene be to thee all thou hast dreamed?

Con. I fear I cannot love her. They told me she was beautiful and
highborn; and when I sought to learn yet more, 'twas but to find she
was a cold, proud woman, fit to be a queen, but not a loving wife. Thus
I learned to dread the hour when I must wed. Yet 'tis my mother's will;
my country's welfare calls for the sacrifice, and I must yield myself.

Ione. They who told thee she was proud and cold do all speak falsely.
Proud she is to those who bow before her but to gain some honor for
themselves, and cold to such as love her for her royalty alone. But if a
fond and faithful heart, and a soul that finds its happiness in noble
deeds can make a queen, Irene is worthy of the crown she will wear. And
now, if it please thee, I will seek the garden; for thy mother bid me
gather flowers for the feast. Adieu, my lord! [_She bows, her veil
falls_; Constantine _hands it to her._] Nay, kings should not bend to
serve a slave, my lord.

Con. I do forget myself most strangely. There, take thy veil, and leave
me [_turns_ _aside_]. Nay, forgive me if I seem unkind, but I cannot
treat thee as a slave. Come, I will go with thee to the garden; thou art
too fair to wander unprotected and alone. Come, Ione [_leads her out_].

CURTAIN.

SCENE FOURTH.

[_The gardens of the palace._
Ione _weaving a garland._]

Ione. The rose is Love's own flower, and I will place it in the wreath I
weave for thee, O Constantine! Would I could bring it to thy heart as
easily! And yet, methinks, if all goes on as now, the slave Ione will
ere long win a prince's love. He smiles when I approach, and sighs when
I would leave him; listens to my songs, and saves the withered flowers I
gave him days ago. How gentle and how kind! Ah, noble Constantine, thou
little thinkest the slave thou art smiling on is the "proud, cold"
Princess Irene, who will one day show thee what a fond, true wife she
will be to thee [_sings_].

[_Enter_ Helon; _kneels to_ Ione.

Ione. He