The battle takes place between the acts; and we next see the Genoese halting near their city after a victory. Doria, who in the first act has been represented to us as an exceedingly gay young fellow, is here described as indulging, in his tent, his old propensities; having brought away, with other trophies, a fair Florentine, who is diverting him with her guitar at that moment.  This is excellent news for Spinola; the more so as we are soon made to understand that Nina, being impatient of her husband’s return, has fled to his tent to meet him, and discovers the fair Florentine in the very act of guitar-playing, and her spouse in the midst of his raptures thereat.

A scene follows, in which Spinola, as a new edition of Iago, and Nina, in the form of a female Othello, get scope for a great variety of that kind of acting which performers call “effective.”  The wife—­in this scene really well-drawn—­will not believe Doria’s falsehood, in spite of strong circumstantial evidence. Spinola offers to strengthen it; and the last scene of this act—­the fourth—­presents a highly melo-dramatic situation.  It is a street scene; and Spinola has brought Nina to watch her husband into her rival’s house.  She sees him approach it—­he wavers—­she hopes he will pass the door.  Alas, he does not, and actually goes in!  Of course she swoons and falls.  So does the act drop.

The entire business of the last act is to bring about the catastrophe; and, as not one step towards it has been previously taken, there is no time to lose. Spinola, therefore, is made not to mince the matter, but to come boldly on at once, with a bottle of poison!  This he blandly insinuates to Nina might be used with great effect upon her husband, so as effectually to put a stop to future intrigues with any forthcoming fair Florentines.  She, however, declines putting the poison to any such use; but, nevertheless, honours Spinola’s draught, by accepting it.  The villain expresses himself extremely grateful for her condescension, and exits, to make way for Doria.

Directly he appears, you at once perceive that he has done something exceedingly naughty, for his countenance is covered with remorse and a certain white powder which is the stage specific for pallor.  The lady complains of being unwell, and her husband kindly advises her to go to bed.  She replies, that she has a cordial within which will soon restore her, and entreats her beloved lord to administer the potion with his own dear hand; he consents—­and they both retire, and the audience shudders, because they pretty well guess that she is going to toss off the dose, of which Spinola has been the dispensing chemist.