TROFIMOV. Peter Trofimov, once the tutor of your Grisha.... Have I changed so much?
[LUBOV ANDREYEVNA embraces him and cries softly.]
GAEV. [Confused] That’s enough, that’s enough, Luba.
VARYA. [Weeps] But I told you, Peter, to wait till to-morrow.
LUBOV. My Grisha... my boy... Grisha... my son.
VARYA. What are we to do, little mother? It’s the will of God.
TROFIMOV. [Softly, through his tears] It’s all right, it’s all right.
LUBOV. [Still weeping] My boy’s dead; he was drowned. Why? Why, my friend? [Softly] Anya’s asleep in there. I am speaking so loudly, making such a noise.... Well, Peter? What’s made you look so bad? Why have you grown so old?
TROFIMOV. In the train an old woman called me a decayed gentleman.
LUBOV. You were quite a boy then, a nice little student, and now your hair is not at all thick and you wear spectacles. Are you really still a student? [Goes to the door.]