ess takes stock with the
corner of his one eye, says gruffly]. Well?

EDSTASTON. My name is Edstaston: Captain Edstaston of the Light
Dragoons. I have the honor to present to your Highness this letter from
the British ambassador, which will give you all necessary particulars.
[He hands Patiomkin the letter.]

PATIOMKIN [tearing it open and glancing at it for about a second]. What
do you want?

EDSTASTON. The letter will explain to your Highness who I am.

PATIOMKIN. I don't want to know who you are. What do you want?

EDSTASTON. An audience of the Empress. [Patiomkin contemptuously throws
the letter aside. Edstaston adds hotly.] Also some civility, if you
please.

PATIOMKIN [with derision]. Ho!

VARINKA. My uncle is receiving you with unusual civility, Captain. He
has just kicked a general downstairs.

EDSTASTON. A Russian general, madam?

VARINKA. Of course.

EDSTASTON. I must allow myself to say, madam, that your uncle had better
not attempt to kick an English officer downstairs.

PATIOMKIN. You want me to kick you upstairs, eh? You want an audience of
the Empress.

EDSTASTON. I have said nothing about kicking, sir. If it comes to that,
my boots shall speak for me. Her Majesty has signified a desire to have
news of the rebellion in America. I have served against the rebels; and
I am instructed to place myself at the disposal of her Majesty, and to
describe the events of the war to her as an eye-witness, in a discreet
and agreeable manner.

PATIOMKIN. Psha! I know. You think if she once sets eyes on your face
and your uniform your fortune is made. You think that if she could stand
a man like me, with only one eye, and a cross eye at that, she must fall
down at your feet at first sight, eh?

EDSTASTON [shocked and indignant]. I think nothing of the sort; and I'll
trouble you not to repeat it. If I were a Russian subject and you made
such a boast about my queen, I'd strike you across the face with my
sword. [Patiomkin, with a yell of fury, rushes at him.] Hands off, you
swine! [As Patiomkin, towering over him, attempts to seize him by the
throat, Edstaston, who is a bit of a wrestler, adroitly backheels him.
He falls, amazed, on his back.]

VARINKA [rushing out]. Help! Call the guard! The Englishman is murdering
my uncle! Help! Help!

The guard and the Sergeant rush in. Edstaston draws a pair of small
pistols from his boots, and points one at the Sergeant and the other at
Patiomkin, who is sitting o