Smirnov. (Laying the revolver silently on the table, takes his hat and starts. At the door he stops a moment gazing at her silently, then he approaches her, hesitating) Listen! Are you still angry? I was mad as the devil, but please understand me—how can I express myself? The thing is like this—such things are— (He raises his voice) Now, is it my fault that you owe me money? (Grasps the back of the chair, which breaks) The devil knows what breakable furniture you have! I like you! Do you understand? I—I'm almost in love!
Mrs. Popov. Leave! I hate you.
Smirnov. Lord! What a woman! I never in my life met one like her. I'm lost, ruined! I've been caught like a mouse in a trap.
Mrs. Popov. Go, or I'll shoot.
Smirnov. Shoot! You have no idea what happiness it would be to die in sight of those beautiful eyes, to die from the revolver in this little velvet hand! I'm mad! Consider it and decide immediately, for if I go now, we shall never see each other again. Decide—speak—I am a noble, a respectable man, have an income of ten thousand, can shoot a coin thrown into the air. I own some fine horses. Will you be my wife?
Mrs. Popov. (Swings the revolver angrily) I'll shoot!
Smirnov. My mind is not clear—I can't understand. Servant—water! I have fallen in love like any young man. (He takes her hand and she cries with pain) I love you! (He kneels) I love you as I have never loved before. Twelve women I jilted, nine jilted me, but not one of them all have I loved as I love you. I am conquered, lost, I lie at your feet like a fool and beg for your hand. Shame and disgrace! For five years I haven't been in love; I thanked the Lord for it, and now I am caught, like a carriage tongue in another carriage. I
