But quite safe from her romance.
She takes me for a hero—think of that!
Now by our holy Lady of Kazan,
When I have finished pitying myself, I’ll pity her.
She. Oh, no;—begin with her; she needs it most.
He. At her door lies the blame, whatever falls.
She, with a single word, with half a tear,
Had stopt it at the first,
This cruel juggling with poor human hearts.
She. The Tsar commanded it—you said the Tsar.