MÁSHA. Of course, best for yourself! But what is it you want? Tell me. FÉDYA. What I want? I want a great deal. MÁSHA. Well, what? What? FÉDYA. First of all, to keep my promise. That is the first thing, and quite sufficient. To lie, and do all the dirty work necessary to get a divorce ... I can't! MÁSHA. Granted that it's horrid--I myself ... FÉDYA. Next, they must really be free--my wife and he. After all, they are good people; and why should they suffer? That's the second thing. MÁSHA. Well, there isn't much good in her, if she's thrown you over. FÉDYA. She didn't--I threw her over. MÁSHA. All right, all right! It's always you. She is an angel! What else! FÉDYA. This--that you are a good, dear girlie--and that I love you, and if I live I shall ruin you. MÁSHA. That's not your business. I know quite well what will ruin me. FÉDYA [sighs] But above all, above all ... What use is my life? Don't I know that I am a lost good-for-nothing? I am a burden to myself and to everybody--as your father said. I'm worthless.... MÁSHA. What rubbish! I shall stick to you. I've stuck to you already, and there's an end of it! As to your leading a bad life, drinking and going on the spree--well, you're a living soul! Give it up, and have done with it! FÉDYA. That's easily said. MÁSHA. Well, then, do it. FÉDYA. Yes, when I look at you I feel as if I could really do anything. MÁSHA. And so you shall! Yes, you'll do it! [Sees the letter] What's that? You've written to them? What have you written? FÉDYA. What have I written?... [Takes the letter and is about to tear it up] It's no longer wanted now. MÁSHA [snatches the letter] You've said you would kill yourself? Yes? You did not mention the revolver--only said that you'd kill yourself? FÉDYA. Yes, that I should be no more. MÁSHA. Give it me--give it, give it!... Have you read _What to Do_? FÉDYA. I think I have. MÁSHA. It's a tiresome novel, but there's one very, very good thing in it. That what's his name?--Rakhmánov--goes and pretends he has drowned himself. And you--can you swim? FÉDYA. No. MÁSHA. That's all right. Let me have your clothes--everything, and your pocket-book too. FÉDYA. How can I? MÁSHA. Wait a bit, wait, wait! Let's go home; then you'll change your clothes. FÉDYA. But it will be a fraud. MÁSHA. All right! You go to bathe, your clothes remain on the bank, in the pocket is your pocket-book and this letter. FÉDYA. Yes, and then? MÁSHA. And then? Why, then we'll go off together and live gloriously. Enter Iván Petróvich. IVÁN PETRÓVICH. There now! And the revolver? I'll take it. MÁSHA. Take it; take it! We're off. Curtain. SCENE 2 The Protásovs' drawing-room. KARÉNIN. He promised so definitely, that I am sure he will keep his word.