SATINE. You know, brother, I used to be a clever youngster. It’s nice to think of it. I was a devil of a fellow . . . danced splendidly, played on the stage, loved to amuse people . . . it was awfully gay . . .
LUKA. How did you get to be what you are?
SATINE. You’re inquisitive, old man! You want to know everything? What for?
LUKA. I want to understand the ways of men—I look at you, and I don’t understand. You’re a bold lad, Constantine, and you’re no fool . . . yet, all of a sudden . . .
SATINE. It’s prison, grandfather—I spent four years and seven months in prison . . . afterwards—where could I go?
LUKA. Aha! What were you there for?
SATINE. On account of a scoundrel—whom I killed in a fit of rage . . . and despair . . . and in prison I learned to play cards . . .
LUKA. You killed—because of a woman?
SATINE. Because of my own sister. . . . But look here—leave me alone! I don’t care for these cross-examinations—and all this happened a long time ago. It’s already nine years since my sister’s death. . . . Brother, she was a wonderful girl . . .
LUKA. You take life easily! And only a while ago that locksmith was here—and how he did yell!