or the other. Being a person who produces a
sensation wherever she goes, this noble lady is naturally made the
subject of all sorts of scandalous reports. To one of these reports
(which falsely and abominably points to the Baron as her lover instead
of her brother) she now refers with just indignation. She has just
expressed her desire to leave Homburg, as the place in which the vile
calumny first took its rise, when the Baron returns, overhears her last
words, and says to her, "Yes, leave Homburg by all means; provided you
leave it in the character of my Lord's betrothed wife!"

'The Countess is startled and shocked. She protests that she does not
reciprocate my Lord's admiration for her. She even goes the length of
refusing to see him again. The Baron answers, "I must positively have
command of money. Take your choice, between marrying my Lord's income,
in the interest of my grand discovery--or leave me to sell myself and
my title to the first rich woman of low degree who is ready to buy me."

'The Countess listens in surprise and dismay. Is it possible that the
Baron is in earnest? He is horribly in earnest. "The woman who will
buy me," he says, "is in the next room to us at this moment. She is
the wealthy widow of a Jewish usurer. She has the money I want to
reach the solution of the great problem. I have only to be that
woman's husband, and to make myself master of untold millions of gold.
Take five minutes to consider what I have said to you, and tell me on
my return which of us is to marry for the money I want, you or I."

'As he turns away, the Countess stops him.

'All the noblest sentiments in her nature are exalted to the highest
pitch. "Where is the true woman," she exclaims, "who wants time to
consummate the sacrifice of herself, when the man to whom she is
devoted demands it? She does not want five minutes--she does not want
five seconds--she holds out her hand to him, and she says, Sacrifice me
on the altar of your glory! Take as stepping-stones on the way to your
triumph, my love, my liberty, and my life!"

'On this grand situation the curtain falls. Judging by my first act,
Mr. Westwick, tell me truly, and don't be afraid of turning my head:--
Am I not capable of writing a good play?'

Henry paused between the First and Second Acts; reflecting, not on the
merits of the play, but on the strange resemblance which the incidents
so far presented to the incidents that had attended the disastrous
ma