good enough not to tell Alexi Fomitch, sir. I have nowhere else to spend
the night; indeed, I haven't.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. Ah! It is you, Nikitushka, is it? Just think, the
audience called me out sixteen times; they brought me three wreathes and
lots of other things, too; they were all wild with enthusiasm, and yet
not a soul came when it was all over to wake the poor, drunken old man
and take him home. And I am an old man, Nikitushka! I am sixty-eight
years old, and I am ill. I haven't the heart left to go on. [Falls
on IVANITCH'S neck and weeps] Don't go away, Nikitushka; I am old and
helpless, and I feel it is time for me to die. Oh, it is dreadful,
dreadful!

IVANITCH. [Tenderly and respectfully] Dear master! it is time for you to
go home, sir!

SVIETLOVIDOFF. I won't go home; I have no home--none! none!--none!

IVANITCH. Oh, dear! Have you forgotten where you live?

SVIETLOVIDOFF. I won't go there. I won't! I am all alone there. I have
nobody, Nikitushka! No wife--no children. I am like the wind blowing
across the lonely fields. I shall die, and no one will remember me. It
is awful to be alone--no one to cheer me, no one to caress me, no one to
help me to bed when I am drunk. Whom do I belong to? Who needs me? Who
loves me? Not a soul, Nikitushka.

IVANITCH. [Weeping] Your audience loves you, master.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. My audience has gone home. They are all asleep, and have