THE BARON. You--reason things out. . . . Well and good--it brings you a certain amount of consolation. . . . Personally I'm incapable of it . . . I don't know how. [_Glances around him and then, softly, guardedly_] Brother--I am afraid--at times. Do you understand? Afraid!--Because--what next?
SATINE. Rot! What's a man to be afraid of?
THE BARON [_pacing up and down_] You know--as far back as I can remember, there's been a sort of fog in my brain. I was never able to understand anything. Somehow I feel embarrassed--it seems to me that all my life I've done nothing but change clothes--and why? I don't understand! I studied--I wore the uniform of the Institute for the Sons of the Nobility . . . but what have I learned? I don't remember! I married--I wore a frock-coat--then a dressing-gown . . . but I chose a disagreeable wife . . . and why? I don't understand. I squandered everything that I possessed--I wore some sort of a grey jacket and brick-colored trousers--but how did I happen to ruin myself? I haven't the slightest idea. . . . I had a position in the Department of State. . . . I wore a uniform and a cap with insignia of rank. . . . I embezzled government funds . . . so they dressed me in a convict's garb--and later on I got into these clothes here--and it all happened as in a dream--it's funny . . .
THE BARON. Yes--silly! I think so, too. Still--wasn't I born for some sort of purpose?
SATINE [_laughing_] Probably--a man is born to conceive a better man. [_Shaking his head_]--It's all right!
THE BARON. That she-devil Nastka! Where did she run to? I'll go and see--after all, she . . . [_Exit; pause_]
THE ACTOR. Tartar! [_Pause_] Prince! [_The Tartar looks round_] Say a prayer for me . . .
THE TARTAR [_after a silence_] Pray for your own self!
THE ACTOR [_quickly crawls off the stove and goes to the table, pours out a drink with shaking hands, drinks, then almost runs to passage_] All over!
SATINE. Hey, proud Sicambrian! Where are you going?
[_Satine whistles. Miedviedieff enters, dressed in a woman's flannel shirt-waist; followed by Bubnoff. Both are slightly drunk. Bubnoff carries a bunch of pretzels in one hand, a couple of smoked fish in the other, a bottle of vodka under one arm, another bottle in his coat pocket._]