'Oh! pardon me, pardon me,' exclaims the Lady Olympia, with 'maniac wildness,' 'pardon a wretched female who knows not what she does! Oh! resistlessly am I impelled to this avowal; resistlessly am I impelled to declare to you, that I love you! adore you to distraction!--Will you return my affection? But, ah! I rave! Megalena, the beloved Megalena claims you as her own; and the wretched Olympia must moan the blighted prospects which were about to open fair before her eyes.' With the propriety, to be looked for in a gentleman whose Megalena is supping in the next room, and may come upon the scene at any moment, the high-souled Wolfstein exclaims: 'No reflection in the present instance is needed, Lady. What man of honour needs a moment's rumination to discover what nature has so inerasibly planted in his bosom,--the sense of right and wrong? I am connected with a female whom I love, who confides in me; in what manner should I merit her confidence, if I join myself to another? Nor can the loveliness of the beautiful Olympia della Anzasca compensate me for breaking an oath sworn to another!' On hearing this 'dreadful fiat of her destiny,' Olympia swoons at Wolfstein's feet, a swoon from which she recovers, just as Megalena sweeps into the room, at the instance of natural curiosity respecting the cause of Olympia's visit. At the sight of Megalena's 'detested form,' the 'passion-grieving' Olympia, faintly articulating 'Vengeance!' rushes into the street and bends her rapid flight to the 'Palazzo di Anzasca.' When Olympia has thus departed in her 'passion-grief,' Wolfstein protests he has never given the fair Anzasca's passion any encouragement. 'What further proof,' he asks of Megalena, 'can I give but my oath, that never in soul or body have I broken the allegiance that I formerly swore to thee?' 'The death of Olympia!' answers Megalena. 'What mean you?' ejaculates Wolfstein. 'I mean,' says Megalena, 'I mean that, if ever you wish again to possess my affections, ere to-morrow morning Olympia must expire.' 'Murder the innocent Olympia?' 'Yes.' 'Will nothing else convince Megalena that Wolfstein is eternally hers?' 'Nothing!' says Megalena. ''Tis done then,' replies Wolfstein the Magnanimous, ''tis done. Yet' (he mutters), 'I may writhe, convulsed in immaterial agony, for ever and ever--ah! I cannot. No, Megalena, I am again yours; I will immolate the victim which thou requirest as a sacrifice to our love. Give me a dagger, which may sweep off from the face of the earth one who is hateful to thee! Adored creature, give me the dagger, and I will restore it to thee dripping with Olympia's hated blood; it shall have first been buried in her heart.'