NATASHA. Where? From one prison to another?
PEPEL. I told you—I’m through with being a thief, so help me God! I’ll quit! If I say so, I’ll do it! I can read and write—I’ll work—He’s been telling me to go to Siberia on my own hook—let’s go there together, what do you say? Do you think I’m not disgusted with my life? Oh—Natasha—I know . . . I see . . . I console myself with the thought that there are lots of people who are honored and respected—and who are bigger thieves than I! But what good is that to me? It isn’t that I repent . . . I’ve no conscience . . . but I do feel one thing: One must live differently. One must live a better life . . . one must be able to respect one’s own self . . .
LUKA. That’s right, friend! May God help you! It’s true! A man must respect himself!
PEPEL. I’ve been a thief from childhood on. Everybody always called me “Vaska—the thief—the son of a thief!” Oh—very well then—I am a thief— . . . just imagine—now, perhaps, I’m a thief out of spite—perhaps I’m a thief because no one ever called me anything different. . . . Well, Natasha—?
NATASHA [sadly] Somehow I don’t believe in words—and I’m restless to-day—my heart is heavy . . . as if I were expecting something . . . it’s a pity, Vassily, that you talked to me to-day . . .
PEPEL. When should I? It isn’t the first time I speak to you . . .
NATASHA. And why should I go with you? I don’t love you so very much—sometimes I like you—and other times the mere sight of you makes me sick . . . it seems—no—I don’t really love you . . . when one really loves, one sees no fault. . . . But I do see . . .
PEPEL. Never mind—you’ll love me after a while! I’ll make you care for me . . . if you’ll just say yes! For over a year I’ve watched you . . . you’re a decent girl . . . you’re kind—you’re reliable—I’m very much in love with you . . .
[Vassilisa, in her best dress, appears at window and listens.]