a Russian sick of his children, sick of his wife? And
why are his wife and children sick of him?

MASHA. You're a little downhearted to-day.

VERSHININ. Perhaps I am. I haven't had any dinner, I've had nothing
since the morning. My daughter is a little unwell, and when my girls are
ill, I get very anxious and my conscience tortures me because they
have such a mother. Oh, if you had seen her to-day! What a trivial
personality! We began quarrelling at seven in the morning and at nine
I slammed the door and went out. [Pause] I never speak of her, it's
strange that I bear my complaints to you alone. [Kisses her hand] Don't
be angry with me. I haven't anybody but you, nobody at all.... [Pause.]

MASHA. What a noise in the oven. Just before father's death there was a
noise in the pipe, just like that.

VERSHININ. Are you superstitious?

MASHA. Yes.

VERSHININ. That's strange. [Kisses her hand] You are a splendid,
wonderful woman. Splendid, wonderful! It is dark here, but I see your
sparkling eyes.

MASHA. [Sits on another chair] There is more light here.

VERSHININ. I love you, love you, love you... I love your eyes, your
movements, I dream of them.... Splendid, wonderful woman!

MASHA. [Laughing] When you talk to me like that, I laugh; I don't know
why, for I'm afraid. Don't repeat it, please.... [In an undertone] No,
go on, it's all the same to me.... [Covers her face with her hands]
Somebody's coming, let's talk about something else.

[IRINA and TUZENBACH come in through the dining-room.]

TUZENBACH. My surname is really triple. I am called Baron
Tuzenbach-Krone-Altschauer, but I am Russian and Orthodox, the same as
you. There is very little German left in me, unless perhaps it is the
patience and the obstinacy with which I bore you. I see you home every
night.

IRINA. How tired I am!

TUZENBACH. And I'll come to the telegraph office to see you home every
day for ten or twenty years, until you drive me away. [He sees MASHA and
VERSHININ; joyfully] Is that you? How do you do.

IRINA. Well, I am home at last. [To MASHA] A lady came to-day to
telegraph to her brother in Saratov that her son died to-day, and she
couldn't remember the address anyhow. So she sent the telegram without
an address, just to Saratov. She was crying. And for some reason or
other I was rude to her. "I've no time," I said. It was so stupid. Are
the entertainers coming to-night?

MASHA. Yes.

IRINA. [Sitting down in an armchair] I wa