_Soph._ Very well. I will wait for you. [_Going, stops before Adrian_] I have not been able to obtain her release, but I am sure there is hope. At least I have touched Colonel Orloff's heart. Have I not, Count? _Orl._ You have indeed! _Soph._ [_Looking steadily at Adrian_] And you will hear news of great importance before morning. [_To Orloff_] Will he not? _Orl._ Without doubt, your highness. _Soph._ [_Going, again turns to Adrian_] The Count will give you his word that _I am to be trusted_. _Orl._ To be sure, your highness. _Soph._ Good-night. [_Exit_] _Orl._ [_After following Sophie's departure with a fatuous look_] Come, lady-bird, we must be moving. [_Starts out, the guards following with Vera. Vetrova, who has seemed quite stunned, suddenly rushes after them and beats guards with his crutch_] _Orl._ [_Seizing him by the collar and throwing him to the floor_] You old fool! We don't want to bother with you! [_Exeunt Orloff, guards and Vera. Vetrova, lying on floor, lifts his fist and curses_] _Adr._ [_Bending over him_] Petrusha! _Vet._ Let me be, Adrian Lavrov! I have held my peace all my life to die cursing at last! I was dumb when they broke my bones under the rod. I was dumb when my son died under the lash. But Vera, my little girl--dragged to that--O God, send thy fires upon him! Curse him--curse him--curse----[_Dies. The peasants cross themselves. Some kneel before the icon, praying. Catherine gazes at Vetrova in hopeless terror. Galovkine kneels and examines the body_] _Galovkine._ Dead. _Cath._ Dead--and a curse on his lips. My Petrusha--dead--and a curse on his lips. [_Two men pick up the body and bear it off right centre, Adrian opening the door. Catherine follows with several women. The other peasants go off silently, street door, leaving only Adrian, Vasil and the revolutionists_] _Greg._ As I was saying when--the Czar interrupted us--Petrizoff must die. And you will help us, Lavrov. Yes--you must! You say yourself that our best hope lies in sympathy and sentiment---- _Adr._ Which the bomb utterly destroys. _Greg._ Not when the Shepherd throws it. Wait! I do not mean that literally, for this [_raising his hand_] is the consecrated hand. But your name as our leader would sanctify the deed. _Adr._ Your leader? _Greg._ Yes. Not only for this, but for our army. Your name is a divine word in every peasant home in Russia. It is cheered by every body of workmen gathered together to-night, and in the army who would not surrender the colors of Romanov to the hero line of Donskoi? _Adr._ [_Starting_] Gregorief----