_Greg._ Songs are good weapons. Write them for us, boy. Give us one to-night before the fire dies there. [_Knocking Vasil's breast_] A war-song---- _Vasil._ [_Springing up_] I will! A song from Schlusselburg! [_Rushes out, street door_] _Adr._ Are you the devil, Gregorief? _Greg._ [_Laughing_] If I am I must have my legions. Did you intend my recruit for a saint, Lavrov? [_Fervidly_] I have sworn to level my prison before I die---- _Adr._ You have laid another stone upon it. There is but one power before which the prisons will forever fall--the power of the soul. Strike them down, and the blows that lay them low will raise them again for your children. _Greg._ Fanaticism! You can not fit the laws of Heaven to the energies of earth, Lavrov! I tell you---- _Galovkine._ Leave this. We've no time. The burning of Yaltowa is fixed for to-morrow night. _Adr._ [_Dazed_] The burning of Yaltowa! _Greg._ Yes, Lavrov. Petrizoff intends to burn the town in our name. We are moving too fast toward the favor of the world, and must be repainted as red ogres. _Adr._ Burn the town! _Manl._ [_Bitterly_] That is not so bad a matter. What are a few thousand homes more or less in a country where no house is safe? The terrible part is the blow to the cause. Our great parties were never more united, never so ready for a telling stroke, and this horrible crime laid at the door of the revolutionists---- _Adr._ It must be prevented! We must act at once---- _Manl._ And get clapped into prison a little sooner. There is not time now for general action. _Adr._ Burnt? The horror of it! _Greg._ [_Looking at Adrian_] It _can_ be prevented. _Adr._ How? _Greg._ Petrizoff is the whole plot, and he is not immortal. _Adr._ [_After a cold silence_] You are a fool to say this to me, Gregorief. _Greg._ Reserve your judgment till you know yourself better. Your heart is with us, Lavrov, in spite of your preaching. _Adr._ Do you suppose I would quietly permit this murder? _Greg._ Will you quietly permit Petrizoff's ten-thousand murders? _Adr._ There is a difference. _Greg._ Yes. We put one assassin to righteous death, he murders thousands of honest men. _Adr._ [_In same tone as before_] There is a difference. _Greg._ _Your_ difference! _Adr._ God's difference. The wicked may do their worst and the world still hope, but if the children of light borrow their weapons---- _Greg._ There is but one way to fight the devil! _Adr._ If you use his own fire you must live in hell to do it. _Greg._ And we don't live in hell now, I suppose! _Adr._ Not an everlasting one. You have the selfishness of the living generation, Gregorief, that consumes as its candle the sun of the unborn. _Greg._ Bah! Each generation must fight for its own breath.