Prince has been constantly complaining to the police. Neither the Prince nor Princess has had the slightest suspicion. Oulita has been safely conveyed to Moscow, and is under the Count's care. The Count is maintaining appearances with the Princess; but is afraid of Siberia, to which the arson and homicide at the chateau would certainly send him, if brought home to him; and is perplexed how to deal honourably with the Princess, whose nature, with its fierce mixture of good and evil, is not one to be trifled with. Grübner has stated his suspicions to the Princess, who resolves to have an explanation with the Count. Accordingly, we have a striking scene, in which the Princess tells the Count that the police are on Oulita's track, and threatens fearful vengeance upon her when taken. The Count manfully avows what he has done, and leaves the Princess in a whirl of rage. But she admires and loves the Count still; and it is on Oulita that she determines her vengeance shall be wreaked.

However, she relents. A little later, while the Count is with Oulita, the police enter the house and seize her, to carry her back to Prince Lanskof. But their plans are disconcerted by Stépan producing a bill of sale, signed in due form by the Prince, which shows that Oulita has been fairly sold to Stépan. The Princess, at a masked ball in the Kremlin, had placed this in the Count's hand,

The police have to give up their prey. And when Grübner enters after a while with a file of soldiers, he finds that he is duped, and that Oulita is beyond his reach.

At the beginning of the Fourth Act, we find that the Count feels the meshes of the police closing round him. He is in his house at St. Petersburg, when Stépan enters to tell him that spies are now watching his house on every side. The Count feels that the odds against him are too great, and he must be beaten at last. The Czar, too, is becoming cold.

We next find Oulita in a room at St. Petersburg, working at embroidery. She is perfectly happy; but change is near. The Small Wise Man has found out her retreat, and comes to tell her of the Princess's wrath, and the storming and vapouring of her father. And now it breaks on poor Oulita's mind what peril the Count is incurring for her sake. She resolves to leave him, lest she should bring him to ruin; and as a last resort, asks the Small Wise Man to give her poison which she might have within her reach. Then a most beautiful scene follows between Oulita and the Count. Her eyes, now awakened, see the traces of ceaseless anxiety and alarm on his altered face; and he, wearied out, falls into deep sleep as he is telling her of his travels in other lands. Half-awaking, he thinks he is

speaking to the Czar, and tells him that if he but knew her, he would pardon all.' He sinks to sleep again; and Oulita, resolute, though broken-hearted, leaves her farewell written, and hastens away.

She has taken a desperate resolution. We next find the Princess in her chamber, brooding upon her wrongs, and wrought up to a tigress-fury. Even as she is declaring what fearful vengeance she would take of Oulita, Oulita enters and kneels at her feet. The scene which follows is one of the most striking in the play; and the more so that our extracts have been only of detached speeches, we shall quote this dialogue entire.

OULITA.

Madam, an outcast girl implores the pardon

She dares not hope for.

And you return, in those becoming robes,

To penitence and virtue-rather late,
Methinks.

Speak, girl, unless you wish me to call Mitchka.
Mitchka is dead, you think; there lives another.
Say, has the Count forsaken you?

What Count?

OULITA (rising).

The Count!

PRINCESS.

Why this surpasses patience! What Count, minx,-
That Count who was to be my husband, wretch ;

That Count who, to his eminent dishonour,

Stole you away-set fire to his friend's palace-
Slew that friend's servants-decked you out, great lady,
In this fine garb—who broke his plighted word
For you, the Count von Straubenheim.

OULITA.

You know, then?

PRINCESS.

There is no thread of his and your intrigues
Unknown to me. He told me of your love.

OULITA.

Permit me now to speak. Of a return,
You spoke, to virtue. There is no return.
A woman might have thought more charitably,
Of any sister-woman, though a serf:
Madam, there's no return, I say, to virtue,
And none to penitence, though much to sorrow.
I loved the Count, 'tis true, yet not to love
I fled, but to escape a shame one maiden
Should hardly have inflicted on another.
I saw the Count again. I listened-who

Would not ?to his fond words and vows repeated
To make this slave in other climes his wife.
But soon the bloodhounds were upon the track.
I heard, or seemed to hear, the avenger's baying,
Marked the ignoble lines of care-his care
For me-indenting that majestic brow :
'Twas then that I divined his danger, sought
To save his life, myself surrendering
To all your sternest cruelty might do.
I am too late, and am prepared to bear

The now most thriftless, useless penalty.

But hear men are most wayward in their fancies;

He should have worshipped at your shrine, great Princess. Perhaps it was your very excellence

Made him decline to such a thing as me.

He ever spoke of you with tenderest homage.

He did?

PRINCESS,

OULITA.

He did; and one there was who sat beside him,
Who joyed to hear your praises, for the Count
Said ever you were most magnanimous,—
Great as a foe, and splendid as a friend.

PRINCESS.

And nothing else, the while he played with those
Fair tresses, said the Count,-nothing about
My furious temper, and the difference 'twixt
Mine and the soft Oulita's,-nothing, girl?
Sealing his pretty sayings with a kiss-
The false, the perjured man.

OULITA.

Not false, nor perjured.

PRINCESS.

Ah, now we stir the meek one.

OULITA.

What he said

In rare disparagement of your great charms,
Was such indeed as might make any woman
Desire the more to win the man who said it.—
By that dread suffering image that looks down
On us this moment, I would die to win
His love for you; would worm myself into
His heart, to find an entrance there for you,
And thus ensure his safety and your joy :
That safety being-for I'll not deceive you,-
The chiefest aim in life for me. Dear Princess-

[Puts her arm round the PRINCESS.

You used to let me call you dear,-be true

To your great mind. Let's set our women's wits