[Luka, smiling, strokes Nastya’s head.]
BUBNOFF [laughs] Ah—you limb of Satan!
THE BARON [also laughs] Hey, old man? Do you think it’s true? It’s all from that book “Fatal Love” . . . it’s all nonsense! Let her alone!
NATASHA. And what’s it to you? Shut up—or God’ll punish you!
NASTYA [bitterly] God damn your soul! You worthless pig! Soul—bah!—you haven’t got one!
LUKA [takes Nastya’s hand] Come, dear! It’s nothing! Don’t be angry—I know—I believe you! You’re right, not they! If you believe you had a real love affair, then you did—yes! And as for him—don’t be angry with a fellow-lodger . . . maybe he’s really jealous, and that’s why he’s laughing. Maybe he never had any real love—maybe not—come on—let’s go!
NASTYA [pressing her hand against her breast] Grandfather! So help me God—it happened! It happened! He was a student, a Frenchman—Gastotcha was his name—he had a little black beard—and patent leathers—may God strike me dead if I’m lying! And he loved me so—my God, how he loved me!
LUKA. Yes, yes, it’s all right. I believe you! Patent leathers, you said? Well, well, well—and you loved him, did you? [Disappears with her around the corner]
THE BARON. God—isn’t she a fool, though? She’s good-hearted—but such a fool—it’s past belief!
BUBNOFF. And why are people so fond of lying—just as if they were up before the judge—really!