cant glance to Lisa].
A room in the gipsies' house. The choir is singing "Kanavela." Fédya in his shirt-sleeves is lying prone on the sofa. Afrémov sits astride a chair in front of the leader of the choir. An officer sits at a table, on which are bottles of champagne and glasses. A musician is taking notes.
AFRÉMOV. Fédya, are you asleep?
FÉDYA [rising] Don't talk.... Now let's have "Not at Eve."
GIPSY LEADER. That won't do, Theodore Vasílyevich! Let Másha sing a solo now.
FÉDYA. All right! And then, "Not at Eve." [Lies down again].
OFFICER. Sing "Fateful Hour."
GIPSY. All agreed?
AFRÉMOV. Go on!
OFFICER [to musician] Have you taken it down?
MUSICIAN. Quite impossible! It's different every time.... And the scale is somehow different. Look here! [Beckons to a gipsy woman who is looking on] Is this right? [Hums].
GIPSY. That's it, that's splen