Petushkóv. I wonder.
Fédya. Yes. The single good act of my soul was not ruining that girl.
Petushkóv. Was it from pity?
Fédya. I sorry for her? Oh, never. Quite the contrary. I worshipped her unclouded sincerity, the energy of her clear, strong will, and God in Heaven, how she sang. And probably she is singing now, for some one else. Yes, I always looked up at her from beneath, as you do at some radiance in the sky. I loved her really. And now it's a tender beautiful memory.
Petushkóv. I understand. It was ideal, and you left it like that.
Fédya (ruminatingly). And I've been attracted often, you know. Once I was in love with a grande dame, bestially in love, dog-like. Well, she gave me a rendezvous, and I didn't, couldn't, keep it, because suddenly I thought of her husband, and it made me feel sick. And you know, it's queer, that now, when I look back, instead of being glad that I was decent, I am as sorry as if I had sinned. But with Masha it's so different; I'm filled with joy that I've never soiled the brightness of my feeling for her. (He points his finger at the floor.) I may go much further down.
Petushkóv (interrupting). I know so well what you mean. But where is she now?
Fédya. I don't know. I don't want to know. All that belongs to another life, and I couldn't bear to mix that life and this life.
[A POLICE OFFICER enters from up R., kicks a man who is lying on the floor—walks down stage, looks at FÉDYA and PETUSHKÓV, then exits.
Petushkóv. Your life's wonderful. I believe you're a real idealist.