- I love her, not you!
Marga...
- Dear Marga...
- Ivan Alekseyevich...
Don't take Galia away, please!
You're still young...
- I have nothing but her.
- Don't grovel, for God's sake!
Marga, I can't bear this!
- Marga, I beseech you!
- Ivan Alekseyevich...
Galia isn't a thing, you know.
Curse you! Both of you!
Jan, wait!
What are you looking for?
- Where did you put the pistol?
- What pistol?
That ladies' pistol we had!
No! You're not getting it!
- Stop it!
- Let go
Let me go! You can't have it!
How vulgar.
How disgusting.
He's like a madman, wandering
about all day spending money.
He gives money to strangers.
He drinks, though he shouldn't.
He's stopped writing, reading,
even going to the cinema!
- Vera Nikolayevna?
- Yes, I'm Vera Nikolayevna.
Vera Nikolayevna asked him
to employ a cook.
Do you suppose he did, Lionya?
Of course he didn't!
Where is he now? Where?
Nobody knows.
I just sit here and wait. All he
thinks about is Galia and Marga.
Marga actually wrote me
a letter. Guess what she said?
She asked me to forgive her.
Whatever for?
Putting an end to that ghastly
situation? I should thank her!
I'll tell Ivan Alekseyevich
to get a cook.
Vera Nikolayevna, wait!
I have something to tell you.
- What do you want to tell me?
- You are tired.
- Let's take a trip to Nice.
- Yes, brilliant idea.
We'll leave him here alone
to shoot himself in peace.
Really Lionya! And I thought
you were the sensible one!
- I love you, Vera Nikolayevna!
- That's marvellous!
You love me, I love him,
he loves Galia,
and Galia loves Marga.
God almighty!
It's straight out of an opera.
Did you say something?
Monsieur Bunin! Good morning.
How are things? Cognac?
- Have you heard the bad news?
- My radio's broken.
The Huns have taken paris.
Really?
It's awful! Who'd have thought
they would get to paris? Shit!
Another cognac, please.
It's gone up. Six hundred.
- A bottle?
- No, a glass.
I'm sorry. It's the suppliers.
Things are scarce.
In Paris they say
everyone is drinking beer!
Poor France!
I'll tell you what.
You can pay the old price.
- Am I disturbing you?
- Yes. - I'll join you anyway.
- I thought we'd never find you!
- Where are you taking me?
- Alia is leaving.
- I want to say goodbye.
- You're leaving us?
- Yes, tomorrow.
- Escaping from the war?
- Yes, that as well.
- Will you be gone long?
- Forever, I should think.
- Where are you going?
- Russia.
- What?
- You heard. Russia.
- Are you mad?
- That's what you all say.
Hitler's in Paris,
and you are just sitting here.
You'll end up in a concentration
camp. Then we'II see who's mad.
There'll be no war in Russia.
- They've promised me a house,
a car... - The Lenin Order?
If I'm offered it, I'll accept.
I'm not proud.
I'll accept the prizes,
if not the Nobel, the Stalin.
To hell with the Bolsheviks!
I'm going home.
You don't have a home anymore.
What home? You're mad!
- The Bolsheviks stole your home.
- Everybody wants you back, too.
They'd welcome you with bells.
you could live like a man!
You little shit.
I could smash your face.
- What? You swine!
- No, stop it! Don't!
Go! No one's stopping you!
Madmen! You won't meet again!
Go to hell!
- Madame?
- Yes?
Don't forget to put out
the lights before you leave.
You don't want the English
dropping bombs on us, do you?
- I always put them out.
- Then tell your girlfriend, too.
We don't want any of your
Russian bohemian ways here!
Everything's terribly expensive.
I didn't buy a thing.
Why don't you put the light out?
I met the neighbours.
They're afraid of the bombing.
- I'm scared they'II report us.
- Me, you mean. You're not a Jew.
I won't stand by and watch them
take you off to a camp.
- We must leave. At once.
- Where to?
- Grasse.
- And you have money for a room?
We'll go to the Bunins.
My dear, are you crazy?
Can you imagine it?
Hello, Ivan Alekseyevich!
Hello, Vera Nikolayevna!
Well, here we