VARYA. My darling’s come back, my pretty one’s come back! [DUNYASHA has already returned with the coffee-pot and is making the coffee, VARYA stands near the door] I go about all day, looking after the house, and I think all the time, if only you could marry a rich man, then I’d be happy and would go away somewhere by myself, then to Kiev... to Moscow, and so on, from one holy place to another. I’d tramp and tramp. That would be splendid! ANYA. The birds are singing in the garden. What time is it now? VARYA. It must be getting on for three. Time you went to sleep, darling. [Goes into ANYA’S room] Splendid! [Enter YASHA with a plaid shawl and a travelling bag.] YASHA. [Crossing the stage: Politely] May I go this way? DUNYASHA. I hardly knew you, Yasha. You have changed abroad. YASHA. Hm... and who are you? DUNYASHA. When you went away I was only so high. [Showing with her hand] I’m Dunyasha, the daughter of Theodore Kozoyedov. You don’t remember! YASHA. Oh, you little cucumber! [Looks round and embraces her. She screams and drops a saucer. YASHA goes out quickly.] VARYA. [In the doorway: In an angry voice] What’s that? DUNYASHA. [Through her tears] I’ve broken a saucer. VARYA. It may bring luck. ANYA. [Coming out of her room] We must tell mother that Peter’s here. VARYA. I told them not to wake him. ANYA. [Thoughtfully] Father died six years ago, and a month later my brother Grisha was drowned in the river--such a dear little boy of seven! Mother couldn’t bear it; she went away, away, without looking round.... [Shudders] How I understand her; if only she knew! [Pause] And Peter Trofimov was Grisha’s tutor, he might tell her.... [Enter FIERS in a short jacket and white waistcoat.] FIERS. [Goes to the coffee-pot, nervously] The mistress is going to have some food here.... [Puts on white gloves] Is the coffee ready? [To DUNYASHA, severely] You! Where’s the cream? DUNYASHA. Oh, dear me...! [Rapid exit.] FIERS. [Fussing round the coffee-pot] Oh, you bungler.... [Murmurs to himself] Back from Paris... the master went to Paris once... in a carriage.... [Laughs.] VARYA. What are you talking about, Fiers? FIERS. I beg your pardon? [Joyfully] The mistress is home again. I’ve lived to see her! Don’t care if I die now.... [Weeps with joy.] [Enter LUBOV ANDREYEVNA, GAEV, LOPAKHIN, and SIMEONOV-PISCHIN, the latter in a long jacket of thin cloth and loose trousers. GAEV, coming in, moves his arms and body about as if he is playing billiards.] LUBOV. Let me remember now. Red into the corner! Twice into the centre! GAEV. Right into the pocket! Once upon a time you and I used both to sleep in this room, and now I’m fifty-one; it does seem strange. LOPAKHIN. Yes, time does go. GAEV. Who does? LOPAKHIN. I said that time does go. GAEV. It smells of patchouli here. ANYA. I’m going to bed. Good-night, mother. [Kisses her.] LUBOV. My lovely little one. [Kisses her hand] Glad to be at home? I can’t get over it. ANYA. Good-night, uncle.