Paulina blows out the candles on the table, then she and Dorn roll SORIN’S chair out of the room, and all go out through the door on the left, except TREPLIEFF, who is left alone.  TREPLIEFF prepares to write.  He runs his eye over what he has already written.

TREPLIEFF.  I have talked a great deal about new forms of art, but I feel myself gradually slipping into the beaten track. [He reads] “The placard cried it from the wall—­a pale face in a frame of dusky hair”—­cried—­frame—­that is stupid. [He scratches out what he has written] I shall begin again from the place where my hero is wakened by the noise of the rain, but what follows must go.  This description of a moonlight night is long and stilted.  Trigorin has worked out a process of his own, and descriptions are easy for him.  He writes that the neck of a broken bottle lying on the bank glittered in the moonlight, and that the shadows lay black under the mill-wheel.  There you have a moonlight night before your eyes, but I speak of the shimmering light, the twinkling stars, the distant sounds of a piano melting into the still and scented air, and the result is abominable. [A pause] The conviction is gradually forcing itself upon me that good literature is not a question of forms new or old, but of ideas that must pour freely from the author’s heart, without his bothering his head about any forms whatsoever. [A knock is heard at the window nearest the table] What was that? [He looks out of the window] I can’t see anything. [He opens the glass door and looks out into the garden] I heard some one run down the steps. [He calls] Who is there? [He goes out, and is heard walking quickly along the terrace.  In a few minutes he comes back with Nina Zarietchnaya] Oh, Nina, Nina!

Nina lays her head on Treplieff’s breast and stifles her sobs.

TREPLIEFF. [Deeply moved] Nina, Nina!  It is you—­you!  I felt you would come; all day my heart has been aching for you. [He takes off her hat and cloak] My darling, my beloved has come back to me!  We mustn’t cry, we mustn’t cry.

Nina.  There is some one here.

TREPLIEFF.  No one is here.

Nina.  Lock the door, some one might come.

TREPLIEFF.  No one will come in.

Nina.  I know your mother is here.  Lock the door.

TREPLIEFF locks the door on the right and comes back to Nina.

TREPLIEFF.  There is no lock on that one.  I shall put a chair against it. [He puts an arm-chair against the door] Don’t be frightened, no one shall come in.

Nina. [Gazing intently into his face] Let me look at you. [She looks about her] It is warm and comfortable in here.  This used to be a sitting-room.  Have I changed much?

TREPLIEFF.  Yes, you have grown thinner, and your eyes are larger than they were.  Nina, it seems so strange to see you!  Why didn’t you let me go to you?  Why didn’t you come sooner to me?  You have been here nearly a week, I know.  I have been several times each day to where you live, and have stood like a beggar beneath your window.