I came back. I have often been near your house, but I have never had the courage to come in. Let us sit down. [They sit down] Let us sit down and talk our hearts out. It is so quiet and warm in here. Do you hear the wind whistling outside? As Turgenieff says, “Happy is he who can sit at night under the roof of his home, who has a warm corner in which to take refuge.” I am a sea-gull—and yet—no. [She passes her hand across her forehead] What was I saying? Oh, yes, Turgenieff. He says, “and God help all houseless wanderers.”
Treplieff. Nina! You are crying again, Nina!
Nina. It is all right. I shall feel better after this. I have not cried for two years. I went into the garden last night to see if our old theatre were still standing. I see it is. I wept there for the first time in two years, and my heart grew lighter, and my soul saw more clearly again. See, I am not crying now. [She takes his hand in hers] So you are an author now, and I am an actress. We have both been sucked into the whirlpool. My life used to be as happy as a child’s; I used to wake singing in the morning; I loved you and dreamt of fame, and what is the reality? To-morrow morning early I must start for Eltz by train in a third-class carriage, with a lot of peasants, and at Eltz the educated trades-people will pursue me with compliments. It is a rough life.
Treplieff. Why are you going to Eltz?
Nina. I have accepted an engagement there for the winter. It is time for me to go.
Treplieff. Nina, I have cursed you, and hated you, and torn up your photograph, and yet I have known every minute of my life that my heart and soul were yours for ever. To cease from loving you is beyond my power. I have suffered continually from the time I lost you and began to write, and my life has been almost unendurable. My youth was sud-
