r you will. I'll be your setter or your bloodhound--your fox,
your viper--your pimp, or executioner. I'm prepared for all commissions
--except honest ones; in those I am as stupid as a block.

FIESCO. Fear not! I would not set the wolf to guard the lamb. Go thou
through Genoa to-morrow and sound the temper of the people. Narrowly
inquire what they think of the government, and of the house of Doria--
what of me, my debaucheries, and romantic passion. Flood their brains
with wine, until the sentiments of the heart flow over. Here's money--
lavish it among the manufacturers----

MOOR. Sir!

FIESCO. Be not afraid--no honesty is in the case. Go, collect what help
thou canst. To-morrow I will hear thy report.

[Exit.

MOOR (following). Rely on me. It is now four o'clock in the morning, by
eight to-morrow you shall hear as much news as twice seventy spies can
furnish.

[Exit.

SCENE X.--An apartment in the house of VERRINA.

BERTHA on a couch, supporting her head on her hand--

VERRINA enters with a look of dejection.

BERTHA (starts up frightened). Heavens! He is here!

VERRINA (stops, looking at her with surprise). My daughter affrighted at
her father!

BERTHA. Fly! fly! or let me fly! Father, your sight is dreadful to me!

VERRINA. Dreadful to my child!--my only child!

BERTHA (looking at him mournfully). Oh! you must seek another. I am no
more your daughter.

VERRINA. What, does my tenderness distress you?

BERTHA. It weighs me down to the earth.

VERRINA. How, my daughter! do you receive me thus? Formerly, when I
came home, my heart o'erburdened with sorrows, my Bertha came running
towards me, and chased them away with her smiles. Come, embrace me, my
daughter! Reclined upon thy glowing bosom, my heart, when chilled by the
sufferings of my country, shall grow warm again. Oh, my child! this day
I have closed my account with the joys of this world, and thou alone
(sighing heavily) remainest to me.

BERTHA (casting a long and earnest look at him). Wretched father!

VERRINA (eagerly embracing her). Bertha! my only child! Bertha! my last
remaining hope! The liberty of Genoa is lost--Fiesco is lost--and thou
(pressing her more strongly, with a look of despair) mayest be
dishonored!

BERTHA (tearing herself from him). Great God! You know, then----

VERRINA (trembling). What?

BERTHA. My virgin honor----

VERRINA (raging). What?

BERTHA. Last nigh