ARKADINA. An unlucky girl! They say that her mother left the whole of an immense fortune to her husband, and now the child is penniless because the father has already willed everything away to his second wife. It is pitiful.
DORN. Yes, her papa is a perfect beast, and I don’t mind saying so—it is what he deserves.
SORIN. [Rubbing his chilled hands] Come, let us go in; the night is damp, and my legs are aching.
ARKADINA. Yes, you act as if they were turned to stone; you can hardly move them. Come, you unfortunate old man. [She takes his arm.]
SHAMRAEFF. [Offering his arm to his wife] Permit me, madame.
SORIN. I hear that dog howling again. Won’t you please have it unchained, Shamraeff?
SHAMRAEFF. No, I really can’t, sir. The granary is full of millet, and I am afraid thieves might break in if the dog were not there. [Walking beside MEDVIEDENKO] Yes, a whole octave lower: “Bravo, Silva!” and he wasn’t a singer either, just a simple church cantor.
MEDVIEDENKO. What salary does the church pay its singers? [All go out except DORN.]
DORN. I may have lost my judgment and my wits, but I must confess I liked that play. There was something in it. When the girl spoke of her solitude and the Devil’s eyes gleamed across the lake, I felt my hands shaking with excitement. It was so fresh and naive. But here he comes; let me say something pleasant to him.
TREPLIEFF comes in.