BORIS. Yes—yes, I can still hear.
ALEXIS. H’m, h’m.
BORIS. Tell me, on your hope of redemption, was what you said to me just now the truth?
ALEXIS. On my hope of redemption, eh?
BORIS. If it was, I ask you to forgive me.
ALEXIS. I have nothing to forgive.
BORIS. Thanks!
ALEXIS. On my hope of redemption, Boris Shamrayeff, everything I told you was lies! Lies! Lies!
[BORIS struggles painfully to his feet and lurches toward the table, where he has laid the pistol. ALEXIS springs to the table, seizes the pistol and tosses it out of the window. BORIS supports himself against the edge of table, half sitting, half leaning against it, his mouth open, his eyes staring. He sways dizzily. ALEXIS stands before him.]
ALEXIS. Well, you can still speak, can’t you?