away. They both go into the house.

NINA. [Alone] How strange to see a famous actress weeping, and for
such a trifle! Is it not strange, too, that a famous author should sit
fishing all day? He is the idol of the public, the papers are full
of him, his photograph is for sale everywhere, his works have been
translated into many foreign languages, and yet he is overjoyed if he
catches a couple of minnows. I always thought famous people were distant
and proud; I thought they despised the common crowd which exalts
riches and birth, and avenged themselves on it by dazzling it with the
inextinguishable honour and glory of their fame. But here I see them
weeping and playing cards and flying into passions like everybody else.

TREPLIEFF comes in without a hat on, carrying a gun and a dead seagull.

TREPLIEFF. Are you alone here?

NINA. Yes.

TREPLIEFF lays the sea-gull at her feet.

NINA. What do you mean by this?

TREPLIEFF. I was base enough to-day to kill this gull. I lay it at your
feet.

NINA. What is happening to you? [She picks up the gull and stands
looking at it.]

TREPLIEFF. [After a pause] So shall I soon end my own life.