CLAIRE. What a nuisance! Mamma will be furious at having to pack, and at missing the Court ball this evening. EDSTASTON. I can't help that. We haven't a moment to lose. CLAIRE. May I tell her she will be knouted if we stay? EDSTASTON. Do, dearest. He kisses her and lets her go, expecting her to run into the house. CLAIRE [pausing thoughtfully]. Is she--is she good-looking when you see her close? EDSTASTON. Not a patch on you, dearest. CLAIRE [jealous]. Then you did see her close? EDSTASTON. Fairly close. CLAIRE. Indeed! How close? No: that's silly of me: I will tell mamma. [She is going out when Naryshkin enters with the Sergeant and a squad of soldiers.] What do you want here? The Sergeant goes to Edstaston: plumps down on his knees: and takes out a magnificent pair of pistols with gold grips. He proffers them to Edstaston, holding them by the barrels. NARYSHKIN. Captain Edstaston: his Highness Prince Patiomkin sends you the pistols he promised you. THE SERGEANT. Take them, Little Father; and do not forget us poor soldiers who have brought them to you; for God knows we get but little to drink. EDSTASTON [irresolutely]. But I can't take these valuable things. By Jiminy, though, they're beautiful! Look at them, Claire. As he is taking the pistols the kneeling Sergeant suddenly drops them; flings himself forward; and embraces Edstaston's hips to prevent him from drawing his own pistols from his boots. THE SERGEANT. Lay hold of him there. Pin his arms. I have his pistols. [The soldiers seize Edstaston.] EDSTASTON. Ah, would you, damn you! [He drives his knee into the Sergeant's epigastrium, and struggles furiously with his captors.] THE SERGEANT [rolling on the ground, gasping and groaning]. Owgh! Murder! Holy Nicholas! Owwwgh! CLAIRE. Help! help! They are killing Charles. Help! NARYSHKIN [seizing her and clapping his hand over her mouth]. Tie him neck and crop. Ten thousand blows of the stick if you let him go. [Claire twists herself loose: turns on him: and cuffs him furiously.] Yow--ow! Have mercy, Little Mother. CLAIRE. You wretch! Help! Help! Police! We are being murdered. Help! The Sergeant, who has risen, comes to Naryshkin's rescue, and grasps Claire's hands, enabling Naryshkin to gag her again. By this time Edstaston and his captors are all rolling on the ground together. They get Edstaston on his back and fasten his wrists together behind his knees. Next they put a broad strap round his ribs. Finally they pass a pole through this breast strap and through the waist strap and lift him by it, helplessly trussed up, to carry him of. Meanwhile he is by no means suffering in silence.