Helena. That doctor has a sensitive, weary face—an interesting face. Sonia evidently likes him, and she is in love with him, and I can understand it. This is the third time he has been here since I have come, and I have not had a real talk with him yet or made much of him. He thinks I am disagreeable. Do you know, Ivan, the reason you and I are such friends? I think it is because we are both lonely and unfortunate. Yes, unfortunate. Don’t look at me in that way, I don’t like it.
Voitski. How can I look at you otherwise when I love you? You are my joy, my life, and my youth. I know that my chances of being loved in return are infinitely small, do not exist, but I ask nothing of you. Only let me look at you, listen to your voice———
Helena. Hush, some one will overhear you.
Voitski. [Following her] Let me speak to you of my love, do not drive me away, and this alone will be my greatest happiness!
Helena. Ah! This is agony!
Telegin strikes the strings of his guitar and plays a polka. Mme. Voitskaya writes something on the leaves of her pamphlet.
The curtain falls.
