_Soph._ But it isn't pleasant to be forgiven that way, as if we were anybody else. I want to be forgiven because I am myself. _Vasil._ You can't with Adrian. His star is the soul, and in its light we are all alike. _Soph._ And what is your star, Vasil? _Vasil._ Mine? It is the same, only I call it love instead of soul. The great love--that makes one heart beat in another's body--that makes me faint in Russia when a beggar starves in India--that fades your cheek with the girl's at an English loom--that turns the comfortable American out of doors with the driven Jew--that gives one color to every flag, and makes the might of the strongest nation the right of the Kaffir babe. This is my star, as Adrian's, only I see it warm and golden instead of cold and white. _Soph._ [_Softly_] It may not be always cold and white to him. _Vasil._ [_Thoughtfully_] Perhaps not, or he would not know so well---- _Soph._ How others see? _Vasil._ [_Nods, and takes up his violin_] Shall I play now, princess? _Soph._ Yes, but do not think of me,--think of---- _Vasil._ I know. The great love. [_He plays, standing by window. Vera sits leaning against Sophie's lap. The princess gazes toward the door, and her look meets Adrian's as he enters. He crosses and stands by her chair. She reaches up and gives him her hand, which he clasps. Curtain_] ACT II SCENE 1. _Same room at night. A score or more of peasant men and women, and half as many revolutionists assembled. They are singing as the curtain rises._ Hark, brothers, hark! [_Knock, knock, knock!_] What do you here, Knocking in the cold? Red are your hands, Frozen are your feet, [_Knock, knock, knock!_] What do you here, Knocking in the cold? A prison we build, [_Knock, knock, knock!_] Here the Czar knelt, Blessing the stones; But when it is finished The gates will unfold And swallow the builders. [_Knock, knock, knock!_] They who labor not, The rich and the idle, Will imprison the workers Who make the babe's bread. Despair drives our hammer, The hearts of the toilers Lie under the blow; We will throw down the hammer, We will labor no more. No, brothers, no! Build ye the prison, Be willing of heart; And when it is finished, Your heavy oppressors Through the dark gates In terror shall pass. Weeping to dungeon The rich and the idle Then shall descend, While above ye shall sing, Swinging your hammers In the broad light. Knock, brothers, knock! [_Knock, knock, knock!_] [_At close of song Adrian rises. Silence_] _An old man._ Speak, Adrian Lavrov. _Adr._ Brothers, we have met to talk matters over. _Manlief._ We have talked for seventy-five years! _A student._ The lash spoke the last word to-day. _Old man._ Speak, Adrian Lavrov.