POPOVA. The man! [Laughs bitterly] Men are faithful and constant in love! What an idea! [With heat] What right have you to talk like that? Men are faithful and constant! Since we are talking about it, I’ll tell you that of all the men I knew and know, the best was my late husband.... I loved him passionately with all my being, as only a young and imaginative woman can love, I gave him my youth, my happiness, my life, my fortune, I breathed in him, I worshipped him as if I were a heathen, and... and what then? This best of men shamelessly deceived me at every step! After his death I found in his desk a whole drawerful of love-letters, and when he was alive--it’s an awful thing to remember!--he used to leave me alone for weeks at a time, and make love to other women and betray me before my very eyes; he wasted my money, and made fun of my feelings.... And, in spite of all that, I loved him and was true to him. And not only that, but, now that he is dead, I am still true and constant to his memory. I have shut myself for ever within these four walls, and will wear these weeds to the very end.... SMIRNOV. [Laughs contemptuously] Weeds!... I don’t understand what you take me for. As if I don’t know why you wear that black domino and bury yourself between four walls! I should say I did! It’s so mysterious, so poetic! When some junker [Note: So in the original.] or some tame poet goes past your windows he’ll think: “There lives the mysterious Tamara who, for the love of her husband, buried herself between four walls.” We know these games! POPOVA. [Exploding] What? How dare you say all that to me? SMIRNOV. You may have buried yourself alive, but you haven’t forgotten to powder your face! POPOVA. How dare you speak to me like that? SMIRNOV. Please don’t shout, I’m not your steward! You must allow me to call things by their real names. I’m not a woman, and I’m used to saying what I think straight out! Don’t you shout, either! POPOVA. I’m not shouting, it’s you! Please leave me alone! SMIRNOV. Pay me my money and I’ll go. POPOVA. I shan’t give you any money! SMIRNOV. Oh, no, you will. POPOVA. I shan’t give you a farthing, just to spite you. You leave me alone! SMIRNOV. I have not the pleasure of being either your husband or your fiancé, so please don’t make scenes. [Sits] I don’t like it. POPOVA. [Choking with rage] So you sit down? SMIRNOV. I do. POPOVA. I ask you to go away! SMIRNOV. Give me my money.... [Aside] Oh, how angry I am! How angry I am! POPOVA. I don’t want to talk to impudent scoundrels! Get out of this! [Pause] Aren’t you going? No? SMIRNOV. No. POPOVA. No? SMIRNOV. No! POPOVA. Very well then! [Rings, enter LUKA] Luka, show this gentleman out! LUKA. [Approaches SMIRNOV] Would you mind going out, sir, as you’re asked to! You needn’t... SMIRNOV. [Jumps up] Shut up! Who are you talking to? I’ll chop you into pieces!