Paulina. [Crossly] Be off, in God’s name!
Treplieff shakes hands with him in silence, and Medviedenko goes out.
Paulina. [Looking at the manuscripts] No one ever dreamed, Constantine, that you would one day turn into a real author. The magazines pay you well for your stories. [She strokes his hair.] You have grown handsome, too. Dear, kind Constantine, be a little nicer to my Masha.
Masha. [Still making the bed] Leave him alone, mother.
Paulina. She is a sweet child. [A pause] A woman, Constantine, asks only for kind looks. I know that from experience.
Treplieff gets up from his desk and goes out without a word.
Masha. There now! You have vexed him. I told you not to bother him.
Paulina. I am sorry for you, Masha.
Masha. Much I need your pity!
Paulina. My heart aches for you. I see how things are, and understand.
Masha. You see what doesn’t exist. Hopeless love is only found in novels. It is a trifle; all one has to do is to keep a tight rein on oneself, and keep one’s head clear. Love must be plucked out the moment it springs up in the heart. My husband has been promised a school in another district, and when we have once left this place I shall forget it all. I shall tear my passion out by the roots.
[The notes of a melancholy waltz are heard in the distance.
Paulina. Constantine is playing. That means he is sad.
Masha silently waltzes a few turns to the music.
Masha. The great thing, mother, is not to have him con-
