With you to aid his plans, to fix his purposes,
Partake success with him, console in failure,
Cheering with your bright wit his melancholy,
He will become the greatest man in Russia.

PRINCESS.

How blind is pride! The Count was right, Oulita,
Were I a man I should have loved you best.
Save him we will, but not for me, Oulita.

I am not worthy of him, nor of you.

Nay, let me kneel to you. Could you but know
What savage thoughts I've had, you ne'er could love me.
Let me but kiss-that shudder was not wickedness-

I do not grudge his fondness for that cheek.

I meant that I must love what he had loved,

And I do love it [kisses her]. We'll rest together, dear,
And early morn shall find us planning rescue.

His peril is most urgent. I did not
Betray him; nay, I saved him once.

Your Marie

Was not in all things bad,—not always wicked.
Ah, could you but have known, that fatal day
My heedless passion threatened you with stripes—
[Puts her hand before her eyes.

I am ashamed to look at you, and say

The base word stripes,―could you have known how tenderly I felt to you, never so much before,

And how I roamed and roamed about in agony,

Contriving some excuse to make you ask

Your pardon, and none came, you must, you would

Have pitied me.

Down at your feet I could have humbly knelt,

Imploring you to kneel at mine, Oulita;

Indeed I could. But then my odious pride

Stiffened my soul again.

OULITA.

But more, you say,

Than ever, then, you loved your own Oulita.

PRINCESS.

What is the worth of my love that could do
So little battle with my pride?

OULITA.

We poor ones,

Who from our infancy are curbed and bent,
And bounded in, know little of the pangs
The great endure in mastering their pride
Long-seated, deep-engrained.

PRINCESS.

Generous Oulita,

Always some foolish, fond excuse for me.
I almost feel I love the Count the more
For being wise and great enough to love thee,
Discerning thy rare qualities beneath

The sorry mask of serfdom

The world would scarce believe its mocking eyes
If it could see two women loving madly

One man, and yet the fonder of each other.

Is it not so, Oulita?

OULITA.

Dearest, it is.

PRINCESS.

Not dearest, I must tell the Count if you
Say that fond word to any other soul.

[OULITA hides her head on the PRINCESS's breast. They
embrace they kneel before the image in the corner of
The curtain falls.

the room.

Thus the noble womanhood of the Princess's nature asserts itself: and thus the Fourth Act ends.

At the beginning of the Fifth Act, the Count, awaking from a fearful dream, finds Oulita's letter, telling him

she has fled to save him from ruin, and begging that he would never let it be known that he had aided her in her escape. Even as he reads it, Grübner and his men are upon him. The Count retains his firmness, but tells Grübner that he is beaten. He is carried away, to be placed before the Czar.

And now, in Prince Lanskof's house, Oulita meets the Small Wise Man, and claims his promise to provide her poison. He gives her what, rubbed upon the lips, will in three minutes cause death; but he speaks as follows::

Promise me this. Before

You use this fatal gift of mine, bring back—
Bring clearly back-to a calm mind, the days
When first your mother's smile was dear, when first
She trusted to your care your little brother,

And anxiously the little nurse upheld

The child, as you both strayed beside the stream—

I've often wandered there-which marked your garden,
To you a world of waters; then your father,

The ponderous man, laid his large hand upon

Your head, saying you were his wise Oulita―

Then think, was this the end for which they toiled,
And if, on thinking thus, you can resolve

In one rash moment to obliterate

What they so prized-why then God's blessing on you.
I can say nothing more.

We are next carried to the palace, where we find the Emperor and Grübner in conversation. We find that the Count is already on his way into Siberian exile; but the Emperor, who loves him, bitterly laments that there is no loophole for pardoning him. Grübner goes, and then a serf almost forces her way into the imperial

presence. It is Oulita, now resolute in despair. A noble scene follows. She boldly tells the Emperor that greater men than the Count have loved where they should not she justifies the Count against the charge of arson and murder; says Mitchka fell in fair fight; and appealing to the Emperor closely, declares that if the Countess whom he loved were sentenced to be scourged, and he burnt down a city to save her, she would not think less of the Czar. The Czar thinks she wishes to follow the Count; but is astonished when he learns that what she wishes is that he should wed the Princess. The Emperor grasps at the idea: says all might then be hushed; but adds that neither Princess nor Count would consent. But the poor Princess, the gentle woman at last, has come with Oulita in a page's dress, and when the Emperor asks her if she will marry the Count, reminding her at the same time of her own slighted affection and her father's wrongs, she replies humbly that she will, and not seek his love, nor ask him to live with her. The Emperor instantly signs a pardon, and tells them to hasten with it along the road to Siberia. Still he fears that the Count, however much he loves liberty, will hardly make a marriage serve as a means of safety. But he bids them God speed, and says at least they may try.

Then we are at a village on the road to Siberia. We hear in the distance the Song of the Exiles;' and a train of exiles enters, among whom is the Count. Ermolaï is there, kindly attending his fallen master; and the Count eagerly asks him of Oulita. There enter Oulita, the Princess veiled, and the Small Wise Man.

They look anxiously among the prisoners, and at length recognise the Count. The Count sees Oulita, and bursts into a joyful speech, assuring her that the evil dreaded so much dwindles when it comes at last. She tells the Count of the conditional pardon she bears, and entreats him to marry the Princess. He declares that he is incapable of such baseness. Oulita then brings the Small Wise Man, hoping that his reasonings may move the Count: but the Count states the case to him; and he declares the Count is right. The Count then speaks to Oulita; says he will yet return and claim

her :

If not, I have a loving memory always by me,
Something to think of when I sit beside
My hut, amidst the unheeded falling snow,
Of evenings, when my sorry work is done.
Better so sit, so thinking, than in palaces—
A thought of inextinguishable baseness
Fast clinging round the soul.

Then he asks Oulita if she had often thought of him :

Once only, Edgar ;—

But that thought lasted long.

And still entreating him to wed the Princess, and so save himself for usefulness and honour, she puts the poison to her lips, and dies as she joins their hands. Poor Oulita judged that by thus unselfishly sacrificing herself, she would make the Count feel himself free.

It was a useless sacrifice. He tells the Princess he loves her now for her true love for the dead; but he has no heart to offer. No word says the Princess,