ISLAEV

(Following her with his eyes) What makes people who really love you stick all their fingers into your wound one after the other? And they’re convinced it makes you feel better—that’s the funny part! But I’m not blaming mother: she really means well—and how can she help giving advice? But that’s not the point . . . (Sitting down) What am I supposed to do? (He ponders, then gets up) Eh, the simpler the better! Diplomatic subtleties don’t suit me . . . I’ll be the first to get tangled up in them.

He rings the bell. Matvei enters.

Do you know if Mikhail Alexandrych is around?

MATVEI

He is, sir. I just saw him in the billiard room.

ISLAEV

Ah! Well, then ask him to come here.

MATVEI

Yes, sir. (Exits)

ISLAEV

(Pacing back and forth) What a mess! I’m not used to this . . . Let’s hope it won’t happen often . . . I have a strong constitution—but I wouldn’t survive that. (Puts his hand to his chest) Pah! . . .

Rakitin enters from the ballroom, embarrassed.

RAKITIN

You sent for me?

ISLAEV

Yes . . . (Pause) Michel, I believe you owe me something.

RAKITIN

Me?

ISLAEV

Who else? Have you forgotten your promise? About . . . Natasha’s crying . . . and all that . . . When mama and I found you, remember—you told me there was a secret between you that you wanted to explain?

RAKITIN

Did I say “a secret”?

ISLAEV

You did.

RAKITIN

What sort of secret could there be? We were talking.

ISLAEV

About what? And why was she crying?

RAKITIN

You know, Arkady . . . there are moments in a woman’s life . . . even the happiest woman . . .

ISLAEV

Wait, Rakitin, this isn’t right. I can’t bear to see you like this . . . Your embarrassment is more painful for me than for you. (Takes him by the arm) We’re old friends—we’ve known each other since childhood: I don’t know how to be devious—and you’ve always been frank with me, too. Let me ask you a question . . . I promise you on my honor, I won’t doubt the sincerity of your answer. Do you love my wife?

Rakitin glances at Islaev.

You know what I mean: do you love her the way . . . Well, in short, do you love my wife in a way that would be . . . hard to admit to a husband?

RAKITIN

(After a pause, in a hollow voice) Yes, I love your wife . . . in that way.

ISLAEV

(Also after a pause) Thank you for your frankness, Michel. You’re an honorable man. Well, so, what do we do now? Sit down, let’s talk it over.

Rakitin sits down. Islaev paces the room.

I know Natasha; I know her worth . . . But I also know my own worth. I’m not as worthy as you, Michel . . . don’t interrupt me, please—I am not as worthy as you. You’re more intelligent, better, and, finally, nicer than I am. I’m a simple man. Natasha loves me—I think—but she has eyes . . . well, in short, how could she not like you? And I’ll tell you another thing: I noticed your penchant for each other long ago . . . But I’ve always trusted you both—and so far nothing has come to light . . . Eh! I’m no good at talking! (Pause) But after that scene yesterday, after your second meeting in the evening—what am I to do? If only I’d been alone when I found you—but there were witnesses: mama, that rascal Shpigelsky . . . Well, what do you say, Michel—eh?