BUBNOFF. What in hell’s bit you? Just listen to him yelping!
[Kleshtch lies down again and grunts.]
THE BARON. Well—I’d better go and make my peace with Nastinka—if I don’t, she won’t treat me to vodka . . .
BUBNOFF. Hm—people love to lie . . . with Nastka—I can see the reason why. She’s used to painting that mutt of hers—and now she wants to paint her soul as well . . . put rouge on her soul, eh? But the others—why do they? Take Luka for instance—he lies a lot . . . and what does he get out of it? He’s an old fellow, too—why does he do it?
THE BARON [smiling and walking away] All people have drab-colored souls—and they like to brighten them up a bit . . .
LUKA [appearing from round the corner] You, sir, why do you tease the girl? Leave her alone—let her cry if it amuses her . . . she weeps for her own pleasure—what harm is it to you?
THE BARON. Nonsense, old man! She’s a nuisance. Raoul to-day, Gaston to-morrow—always the same old yarn, though! Still—I’ll go and make up with her. [Leaves]
LUKA. That’s right—go—and be nice to her. Being nice to people never does them any harm . . .
NATASHA. You’re so good, little father—why are you so good?