MÍTYA. It's I, Mítya.
LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Why were you so long in coming?
MÍTYA. I was detained. [Approaches] Lyubóv Gordéyevna, are you alone?
LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Yes, what of it?
MÍTYA. Lyubóv Gordéyevna, how do you wish me to understand your letter? Do you mean it, or is it a joke? [LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA is silent] Tell me, Lyubóv Gordéyevna! I am now in such perplexity that I cannot express it to you. My position in your house is known to you; subordinate to everybody, and I may say utterly despised by Gordéy Kárpych. I've had only one feeling, that for you, and if I receive ridicule from you, then it would have been better for me never to have lived in this world. You may trust me! I am telling you the truth.
LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, Mítya dear, what I wrote to you was the truth, and not a joke. And you, do you love me?
MÍTYA. Indeed, Lyubóv Gordéyevna, I do not know how to express to you what I feel. But at least let me assure you that I have a heart in my breast, and not a stone. You can see my love from everything.
LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. But I thought that you loved Anna Ivánovna.
MÍTYA. That is not true!
LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Really, they told me so.