SORIN. Splendid!

TREPLIEFF. Of course the whole effect will be ruined if Nina is late.
She should be here by now, but her father and stepmother watch her so
closely that it is like stealing her from a prison to get her away from
home. [He straightens SORIN'S collar] Your hair and beard are all on
end. Oughtn't you to have them trimmed?

SORIN. [Smoothing his beard] They are the tragedy of my existence. Even
when I was young I always looked as if I were drunk, and all. Women have
never liked me. [Sitting down] Why is my sister out of temper?

TREPLIEFF. Why? Because she is jealous and bored. [Sitting down beside
SORIN] She is not acting this evening, but Nina is, and so she has set
herself against me, and against the performance of the play, and against
the play itself, which she hates without ever having read it.

SORIN. [Laughing] Does she, really?

TREPLIEFF. Yes, she is furious because Nina is going to have a
success on this little stage. [Looking at his watch] My mother is a
psychological curiosity. Without doubt brilliant and talented, capable
of sobbing over a novel, of reciting all Nekrasoff's poetry by heart,
and of nursing the sick like an angel of heaven, you should see what
happens if any one begins praising Duse to her! She alone must be
praised and written about, raved over, her marvellous acting in "La Dame
aux Camelias" extolled to the skies. As she cannot get all that rubbish
in the country, she grows peevish and cross, and thinks we are all
against her, and to blame for it all. She is superstitious, too. She
dreads burning three candles, and fears the thirteenth day of the month.