IVÁN PETRÓVICH. All right—then you'll wait for me? I have still something important to tell you—something that you will not hear in this world nor in the next, at any rate not till I come there.… Am I to let him have all of this?
FÉDYA. As much as is necessary. [Exit Iván Petróvich.]
Fédya sighs with relief; locks the door behind Iván Petróvich; takes up the revolver, cocks it, puts it to his temple; shudders, and carefully lowers it again. Groans.
FÉDYA. No; I can't! I can't! I can't! [Knock at the door] Who's there?
[Másha's voice from outside] It's me!
FÉDYA. Who's “me”? Oh, Másha … [opens door].
MÁSHA. I've been to your place, to Popóv's, to Afrémov's, and guessed that you must be here. [Sees revolver] That's a nice thing! There's a fool! A regular fool! Is it possible you really meant to?
FÉDYA. No, I couldn't.
MÁSHA. Do I count for nothing at all? You heathen! You had no pity for me? Oh, Theodore Vasílyevich, it's a sin, a sin! In return for my love …
FÉDYA. I wished to release them. I promised to, and I can't lie.