AFRÉMOV. Stop quarrelling! Let me settle it ... ask Fédya--he'll give you the right tip. FÉDYA. Both horses are good. All depends on the jockey. STÁKHOV. Gúsev is a rascal, and needs a firm hand on him. KOROTKÓV [shouts] No! FÉDYA. Wait a bit--I'll settle your differences.... Who won the Moscow Derby? KOROTKÓV. He did--but what of that? It was only chance. If Crakus had not fallen ill.... [Enter footman]. AFRÉMOV. What is it? FOOTMAN. A lady has come, and is asking for Mr. Protásov. AFRÉMOV. What is she like? A real lady? FOOTMAN. I don't know her name, but she's a real lady. AFRÉMOV. Fédya! a lady to see you! FÉDYA [startled] Who is it? AFRÉMOV. He doesn't know. FOOTMAN. Shall I ask her into the dining-room? FÉDYA. No, wait.... I'll go myself and see. Exeunt Fédya and footman. KOROTKÓV. Who can it be? It must be Másha. STÁKHOV. Which Másha? KOROTKÓV. The gipsy. She's in love with him, like a cat. STÁKHOV. What a darling she is ...! And how she sings! AFRÉMOV. Charming! Tanyúsha and she! They sang with Peter yesterday. STÁKHOV. What a lucky fellow that is! AFRÉMOV. Why? Because the girls are all sweet on him? Not much luck in that! KOROTKÓV. I can't bear gipsies--nothing refined about them. BUTKÉVICH. No, you can't say that! KOROTKÓV. I'd give the whole lot for one French woman! AFRÉMOV. Yes, we know you--and your æsthetics!... I'll go and see who it is. [Exit]. STÁKHOV. If it's Másha, bring her in here! We'll make her sing.... No, the gipsies aren't what they used to be. Tanyúsha, now--by Gad! BUTKÉVICH. And I believe they're just the same. STÁKHOV. Just the same? When instead of their own pieces they sing empty drawing-room songs? BUTKÉVICH. Some drawing-room songs are very good. KOROTKÓV. Will you bet I don't get them to sing a drawing-room song so that you won't know it from one of their own? STÁKHOV. Korotkóv always wants to bet! Enter Afrémov. AFRÉMOV. I say, you fellows, it's not Másha--and there's no room he can ask her into but this. Let us clear out to the billiard room. [Exeunt]. Enter Fédya and Sásha. SÁSHA [confused] Fédya, forgive me if it's unpleasant--but for God's sake hear me!... [Her voice trembles]. Fédya walks up and down the room. Sásha sits down, and follows him with her eyes. SÁSHA. Fédya! Come home! FÉDYA. Just listen to me, Sásha ... I quite understand you, Sásha dear, and in your place I should do the same--I should try to find some way to bring back the old state of affairs. But if you were me, if--strange as it sounds--you, dear sensitive girl, were in my place ... you would certainly have done as I did, and have gone away and ceased to spoil someone else's life. SÁSHA. Spoil? How? As if Lisa could live without you! FÉDYA. Oh, Sásha dear! Dear heart!... She can, she can! And she will yet be happy--far happier than with me. SÁSHA. Never!