LUBOV. You ought to be a man, at your age you ought to be able to understand those who love. And you ought to be in love yourself, you must fall in love! [Angry] Yes, yes! You aren’t pure, you’re just a freak, a queer fellow, a funny growth... TROFIMOV. [In horror] What is she saying! LUBOV. “I’m above love!” You’re not above love, you’re just what our Fiers calls a bungler. Not to have a mistress at your age! TROFIMOV. [In horror] This is awful! What is she saying? [Goes quickly up into the drawing-room, clutching his head] It’s awful... I can’t stand it, I’ll go away. [Exit, but returns at once] All is over between us! [Exit.] LUBOV. [Shouts after him] Peter, wait! Silly man, I was joking! Peter! [Somebody is heard going out and falling downstairs noisily. ANYA and VARYA scream; laughter is heard immediately] What’s that? [ANYA comes running in, laughing.] ANYA. Peter’s fallen downstairs! [Runs out again.] LUBOV. This Peter’s a marvel. [The STATION-MASTER stands in the middle of the drawing-room and recites “The Magdalen” by Tolstoy. He is listened to, but he has only delivered a few lines when a waltz is heard from the front room, and the recitation is stopped. Everybody dances. TROFIMOV, ANYA, VARYA, and LUBOV ANDREYEVNA come in from the front room.] LUBOV. Well, Peter... you pure soul... I beg your pardon... let’s dance. [She dances with PETER. ANYA and VARYA dance. FIERS enters and stands his stick by a side door. YASHA has also come in and looks on at the dance.] YASHA. Well, grandfather? FIERS. I’m not well. At our balls some time back, generals and barons and admirals used to dance, and now we send for post-office clerks and the Station-master, and even they come as a favour. I’m very weak. The dead master, the grandfather, used to give everybody sealing-wax when anything was wrong. I’ve taken sealing-wax every day for twenty years, and more; perhaps that’s why I still live. YASHA. I’m tired of you, grandfather. [Yawns] If you’d only hurry up and kick the bucket. FIERS. Oh you... bungler! [Mutters.] [TROFIMOV and LUBOV ANDREYEVNA dance in the reception-room, then into the sitting-room.] LUBOV. _Merci_. I’ll sit down. [Sits] I’m tired. [Enter ANYA.] ANYA. [Excited] Somebody in the kitchen was saying just now that the cherry orchard was sold to-day. LUBOV. Sold to whom? ANYA. He didn’t say to whom. He’s gone now. [Dances out into the reception-room with TROFIMOV.] YASHA. Some old man was chattering about it a long time ago. A stranger! FIERS. And Leonid Andreyevitch isn’t here yet, he hasn’t come. He’s wearing a light, _demi-saison_ overcoat. He’ll catch cold. Oh these young fellows. LUBOV. I’ll die of this. Go and find out, Yasha, to whom it’s sold. YASHA. Oh, but he’s been gone a long time, the old man. [Laughs.] LUBOV. [Slightly vexed] Why do you laugh? What are you glad about? YASHA. Epikhodov’s too funny. He’s a silly man. Two-and-twenty troubles. LUBOV. Fiers, if the estate is sold, where will you go?