[The old garden at the house of the PROSOROVS. There is a long avenue of firs, at the end of which the river can be seen. There is a forest on the far side of the river. On the right is the terrace of the house: bottles and tumblers are on a table here; it is evident that champagne has just been drunk. It is midday. Every now and again passers-by walk across the garden, from the road to the river; five soldiers go past rapidly. CHEBUTIKIN, in a comfortable frame of mind which does not desert him throughout the act, sits in an armchair in the garden, waiting to be called. He wears a peaked cap and has a stick. IRINA, KULIGIN with a cross hanging from his neck and without his moustaches, and TUZENBACH are standing on the terrace seeing off FEDOTIK and RODE, who are coming down into the garden; both officers are in service uniform.]
TUZENBACH. [Exchanges kisses with FEDOTIK] You’re a good sort, we got on so well together. [Exchanges kisses with RODE] Once again.... Good-bye, old man!
IRINA. Au revoir!
FEDOTIK. It isn’t au revoir, it’s good-bye; we’ll never meet again!
KULIGIN. Who knows! [Wipes his eyes; smiles] Here I’ve started crying!
IRINA. We’ll meet again sometime.
FEDOTIK. After ten years—or fifteen? We’ll hardly know one another then; we’ll say, “How do you do?” coldly.... [Takes a snapshot] Keep still.... Once more, for the last time.
RODE. [Embracing TUZENBACH] We shan’t meet again.... [Kisses IRINA’S hand] Thank you for everything, for everything!
FEDOTIK. [Grieved] Don’t be in such a hurry!
TUZENBACH. We shall meet again, if God wills it. Write to us. Be sure to write.