SHE. [Looks at the photograph] You will see, Nicolas, how I can love and forgive. . . . My love will die out with me, only when this poor heart will cease to beat. [Laughs through her tears] And aren't you ashamed? I am a good and virtuous little wife. I've locked myself in, and will be true to you till the grave, and you . . . aren't you ashamed, you bad child? You deceived me, had rows with me, left me alone for weeks on end . . . .

HE. [off stage] You fool, damn it. . . . Ass! [Sees POPOVA and speaks with respect] Madam, I have the honor to present myself, I am Grigory Smirnov, landowner and retired lieutenant of artillery! I am compelled to disturb you on a very pressing affair.

SHE. [Not giving him her hand] What do you want?

HE. Your late husband, with whom I had the honour of being acquainted, died in my debt for one thousand two hundred roubles, on two bills of exchange. As I've got to pay the interest on a mortgage tomorrow, I've come to ask you, madam, to pay me the money today.

SHE. One thousand two hundred. . . . And what was my husband in debt to you for?

HE. He used to buy oats from me.

SHE. If Nicolai died in debt to you, then I shall certainly pay you, but you must excuse me to-day, as I haven't any spare cash. The day after to-morrow my steward will be back from town, and I'll give him instructions to settle your account, but at the moment I cannot do as you wish. . . . Moreover, it's exactly seven months to-day since the death of my husband, and I'm in a state of mind which absolutely prevents me from giving money matters my attention.

HE. And I'm in a state of mind which, if I don't pay the interest due to-morrow, will force me to make a graceful exit from this life feet first. They'll take my estate!

SHE. You'll have your money the day after tomorrow.

HE. I don't want the money the day after tomorrow, I want it today.

SHE. You must excuse me, I can't pay you.

HE. And I can't wait till after to-morrow.

SHE. Well, what can I do, if I haven't the money now!

HE. You mean to say, you can't pay me?

SHE. I can't.

HE. Hm! Is that the last word you've got to say?

SHE. Yes, the last word.

HE. The last word? Absolutely your last?

SHE. Absolutely.

HE. Thank you so much. I'll make a note of it. [Shrugs his shoulders] And then people want me to keep calm! I meet a man on the road, and he asks me "Why are you always so angry?" But how on earth am I not to get angry? I want the money desperately. I rode out yesterday, early in the morning, and called on all my debtors, and not a single one of them paid up! I was just about dead-beat after it all, slept, goodness knows where, in some inn, kept by a Jew, with a vodka-barrel by my head. At last I get here, seventy mills from home, and hope to get something, and I am received by you with a "state of mind"! How shouldn't I get angry.

SHE. I thought I distinctly said my steward will pay you when he returns from town.

HE. I didn't come to your steward, but to you! What the devil, excuse my saying so, have I to do with your steward!

SHE. Excuse me, sir, I am not accustomed to listen to such expressions or to such a tone of voice. I want to hear no more. [Makes a rapid exit.]