denly plucked from me then, and I seem now to have lived in this world for ninety years. I have called out to you, I have kissed the ground you walked on, wherever I looked I have seen your face before my eyes, and the smile that had illumined for me the best years of my life.
Nina. [Despairingly] Why, why does he talk to me like this?
Treplieff. I am quite alone, unwarmed by any attachment. Iam as cold as if I were living ina cave. Whatever I write is dry and gloomy and harsh. Stay here, Nina, I beseech you, or else let me go away with you.
Nina quickly puts on her coat and hat.
Treplieff. Nina, why do you do that? For God’s sake, Nina!
Nina. My carriage is at the gate. Do not come out to see me off. I shall find the way alone. [Weeping] Let me have some water.
Treplieff hands her a glass of water.
Treplieff. Where are you going?
Nina. Back to the village. Is your mother here?
Treplieff. Yes, my uncle fell ill on Thursday, and we telegraphed for her to come.
Nina. Why do you say that you have kissed the ground I walked on? You should kill me rather. [She bends over the table] I am so tired. If I could only rest—rest. [She raises her head] I am a sea-gull—no—no, I am an actress. [She hears Arkadina and Trigorin laughing in the distance, runs to the door on the left and looks through the keyhole] He is there too. [She goes back to Treplieff] Ah, well—no matter. He does not believe in the theatre; he used to laugh at my dreams, so that little by little I became down-hearted and ceased to believe in it too. Then came all the cares of love, the con-
