FEDYA (wistfully). Oh, she couldn't creep into the center of my being like Masha. But that's not what I mean. Before the baby was born, and afterwards, when she was nursing him, I used to stay away for days and days, and come back drunk, drunk, and love her less and less each time, because I was wronging her so terribly. (Excitedly.) Yes. That's it, I never realized it before. The reason why I loved Masha was because I did her good, not harm. But I crucified my wife, and her contortions filled me almost with hatred. [FEDYA drinks. PETUSHKOV. I think I understand. Now in my case---- [ARTIMIEV enters R. U., approaches with a cockade on his cap, dyed mustache, and shabby, but carefully mended clothes. ARTIMIEV (stands L. of table). Good appetite, gentlemen! (Bowing to FEDYA.) I see you've made the acquaintance of our great artist. FEDYA (coolly). Yes, I have. ARTIMIEV (to PETUSHKOV). Have you finished your portrait? PETUSHKOV. No, they didn't give me the commission, after all. ARTIMIEV (sitting down on end of table). I'm not in your way, am I? [FEDYA and PETUSHKOV don't answer. PETUSHKOV. This gentleman was telling me about his life. ARTIMIEV. Oh, secrets? Then I won't disturb you. Pardon me for interrupting. (To himself as he moves away.) Damn swine! [He goes to the next table, sits down and in the dim candlelight he can just be seen listening to the conversation. FEDYA. I don't like that man. PETUSHKOV. I think he's offended. FEDYA. Let him be. I can't stand him. If he'd stayed I shouldn't have said a word. Now, it's different with you. You make me feel all comfortable, you know. Well, what was I saying? PETUSHKOV. You were talking about your wife. How did you happen to separate? FEDYA. Oh, that? (A pause.) It's a rather curious story. My wife's married. PETUSHKOV. Oh, I see! You're divorced. FEDYA. No. (Smiling.) She's a widow. PETUSHKOV. A widow? What do you mean? FEDYA. I mean exactly what I say. She's a widow. I don't exist. PETUSHKOV (puzzled). What? FEDYA (smiling drunkenly). I'm dead. You're talking to a corpse. [ARTIMIEV leans towards them and listens intently. Funny, I seem to be able to say anything to you. And it's so long ago, so long ago. And what is it after all to you but a story? Well, when I got to the climax of torturing my wife, when I'd squandered everything I had or could get, and become utterly rotten, then, there appeared a protector. PETUSHKOV. The usual thing, I suppose?