delight, little sleeper in a rosy cradle.

CLAIRE. I'll do anything if you'll only let me alone.

THE SERGEANT [kneeling to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, lest the
mighty man bring his whip to you. God knows we all need pardon!

CLAIRE [at the top of her voice]. I pardon him! I pardon him!

PATIOMKIN [springing up joyfully and going behind Claire, whom he
raises in his arms]. Embrace her, victor of Bunker's Hill. Kiss
her till she swoons.

THE SERGEANT. Receive her in the name of the holy Nicholas.

VARINKA. She begs you for a thousand dear little kisses all over
her body.

CLAIRE [vehemently]. I do not. [Patiomkin throws her into
Edstaston's arms.] Oh! [The pair, awkward and shamefaced, recoil
from one another, and remain utterly inexpressive.]

CATHERINE [pushing Edstaston towards Claire]. There is no help
for it, Captain. This is Russia, not England.

EDSTASTON [plucking up some geniality, and kissing Claire
ceremoniously on the brow]. I have no objection.

VARINKA [disgusted]. Only one kiss! and on the forehead! Fish.
See how I kiss, though it is only my horribly ugly old uncle [she