(looking at her pocket watch) I ought to wake him up, but Varya said not to. Don’t you go waking him, she said.

Enter Varya. On her belt she has a bunch of keys.

VARYAMama’s asking for coffee—quick as you can, Dunyasha.

DUNYASHAComing, coming!

She goes out.

VARYAWell, you’re here at last, thank the Lord—home again. (cuddles her) My little one is home—my darling.

ANYAWhat I’ve been through since I saw you!

VARYAI can just imagine!

ANYAIt was so cold when I left in Easter week. Charlotta talked the whole way and never left off with her conjuring tricks. Why ever did you have to stick me with her?

VARYAMy darling, you can’t go travelling on your own at seventeen.

ANYAAnyway, we get to Paris and it’s so cold. It’s snowing. My French is hopeless. Mama’s living five floors up. So I arrive and she’s got some French people with her, some ladies, and an old Catholic priest mumbling over a book. It was horribly crowded with everybody smoking. All of a sudden I felt so sorry for Mama, I put my arms around her head and hugged her tight, I couldn’t let go, and then she was kissing me and crying . . .

VARYA (fighting back tears)Don’t . . . don’t . . .

ANYAThe villa near Menton is already sold. She has nothing left, nothing at all. I haven’t got a kopek, we barely made it to Paris. And Mama simply doesn’t take it in. At the station restaurant she ordered the most expensive things on the menu and tipped the waiters a rouble each. Charlotta’s the same. And Yasha orders for himself, it’s just awful. Yasha is Mama’s footman now, we brought him back with us.

VARYAI saw him, the good-for-nothing.

ANYASo, what’s happening?—has the interest been paid?

VARYAWith what?

ANYAOh God, please God . . .

VARYAThe whole estate’s going to be sold by August.

ANYAOh God . . .