Count rushes out in horror. The Marquis takes the girl into his
confidence, and makes his excuses. If she becomes a widow of
rank, she may not only marry the Count, but will be in a position
to procure the liberty of the innocent old man, whose strength is
failing him under the rigors of imprisonment. Celia hesitates.
After a struggle with herself, filial love prevails, and she
consents. The jailer announces that the chaplain is waiting; the
bride and bridegroom withdraw to the prison chapel. Left on the
stage, the jailer hears a distant sound in the city, which he is
at a loss to understand. It sinks, increases again, travels
nearer to the prison, and now betrays itself as the sound of
multitudinous voices in a state of furious uproar. Has the
conspiracy broken out again? Yes! The whole population has risen;
the soldiers have refused to fire on the people; the terrified
Prince has dismissed his ministers, and promises a constitution.
The Marquis, returning from the ceremony which has just made
Celia his wife, is presented with a free pardon, and with the
offer of a high place in the re-formed ministry. A new life is
opening before him--and he has innocently ruined his friend's
prospects! On this striking situation the drop-curtain falls.

While we were still applauding the first act, Rothsay alarmed me:
he dropped from his seat at my side, like a man struck dead. The
stifling heat in the theater had proved too much for him. We
carried him out at once into the fresh air. When he came to his
senses, my friend entreated me to leave him, and see the end of
the play. To my mind, he looked as if he might faint again. I
insisted on going back with him to our hotel.

On the next day I went to the theater, to ascertain if the play