"Right away, as soon as we finish this game."
A few undressed actors with their make-up half-completed were playing a game of poker. Stanislawski alone sat in a corner of the dressing-room before his mirror and was making up his face. Already for the third time he was rubbing off the paint with a towel and making up anew. He gymnasticated his mouth, contracted his brows in anger, puckered his forehead and cast all sorts of glances. He was rehearsing a character and with each change of his physiognomy, he mumbled beneath his breath the corresponding parts of his role, only now and then tossing in the direction of the card players a ten-copeck piece and two words: "A four . . . ten coppers!"
"The public is starting a rumpus! It's time to ring and begin!" pleaded Cabinski.
"Don't disturb us, Director. Let them wait. . . . A trump! . . .
Shell out the coin!"
"A jack . . . you pay!"
"A queen of hearts . . . hand over five shekles!"
"All's ready! Stake something on Desdemona, Director," cried one of the players, shuffling and stacking the cards.
"She will betray me!" hissed Cabinski.
"Doesn't she betray you anyway?"
"Ring!" shouted Cabinski to the stage-director, hearing a stamping of feet in the hall.