[ACT THREE.]
“The Waste,” a yard strewn with rubbish and overgrown with weeds. Back, a high brick wall which shuts out the sight of the sky. Near it are elder bushes. Right, the dark, wooden wall of some sort of house, barn or stable. Left, the grey, tumbledown wall of Kostilyoff’s night asylum. It is built at an angle so that the further corner reaches almost to the centre of the yard. Between it and the wall runs a narrow passage. In the grey, plastered wall are two windows, one on a level with the ground, the other about six feet higher up and closer to the brick wall. Near the latter wall is a big sledge turned upside down and a beam about twelve feet long. Right of the wall is a heap of old planks. Evening. The sun is setting, throwing a crimson light on the brick wall. Early spring, the snow having only recently melted. The elder bushes are not yet in bud.
Natasha and Nastya are sitting side by side on the beam. Luka and the Baron are on the sledge. Kleshtch is stretched on the pile of planks to the right. Bubnoff’s face is at the ground floor window.
NASTYA [with closed eyes, nodding her head in rhythm to the tale she is telling in a sing-song voice] So then at night he came into the garden. I had been waiting for him quite a while. I trembled with fear and grief—he trembled, too . . . he was as white as chalk—and he had the pistol in his hand . . .
NATASHA [chewing sun-flower seeds] Oh—are these students really such desperate fellows . . . ?
NASTYA. And he says to me in a dreadful voice: “My precious darling . . .”
BUBNOFF. Ho-ho! Precious—?
THE BARON. Shut up! If you don’t like it, you can lump it! But don’t interrupt her. . . . Go on . . .