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** That day in the Karabas-Barabas theater it was light, all the dolls were resting after the performance.**

Buratino walked around the room thinking and making fists. His head was full of mvsley "He found someone to pine for! She's an upstart... How can he still not understand that she doesn't love him! Pierrot is suffering so much because of this Malvina! We need to do something to make him fall out of love with this girl! Maybe draw a mustache on her while she's sleeping? No, she'll like Pierrot even more... Or maybe make him hook up with someone else? Damn it, I can't do that, it'll break Pierrot's heart..."

Malvina left Pierrot. Buratino, Pierrot and Harlequin gathered backstage.

Harlequin sprawled on a chair, playing with a bat in his hands and tapping his black boot. Buratino stood nearby, looking questioningly at Pierrot, his arms crossed.

Pierrot himself walked around the room like an excited, joyful child, tenderly clutching the letter to himself* "Ah! Friends, I'm perishing! Without love, this life is not sweet to me!!"

Harlequin laughed at him "Ha-ha! What are you whining about? Are you sick or something?"

Buratino nodded in response to Harlequin's words, looking at Pierrot, rolling his eyes "Oh, of course, he's sick. With his "Malvina.""

Pierrot: "Oh, yes! Harlequin... I... am sick!"

Pierrot looked at them both with hope, his eyes looking at the secret letter "What if it's Malvina! Ah, Malvina!... Maybe she decided to write to me!"

With these words, Pierrot read the tender words written there, groaning and gasping with joy and hope.

Harlequin snorted, objecting* "Ugh! What dull, disgusting words! I suggest we burn them! Ha-ha!"

Buratino sighed and added " Pierrot... it's definitely not Malvina! You can't be such a simpleton!

Pierrot's smile gradually faded, turning into a sad, upset expression "not her?... b-but who?.. who... The author?..

he said, confused and sad

Buratino and Harlequin together: "well, definitely not her, fool!"

the next day Pierrot was sitting in the yard, on the back threshold of the theater, sadly looking at the green grass, humming his song

"I don't need raspberries.. I'm not afraid of tonsillitis, I'm not afraid of anything at all!.. if only Malvina.. - if only Malvina - if only... Malvina.. adored only me."

poor Pierrot sniffled tearfully, absentmindedly stroking the letter with his thin, tender, pale fingers, immersed in his melancholic, sad thoughts