What a wicked man you are, Ivan. I gave you credit for ten copecks, and you are forever slandering us. BEZKRAINY. Don't pay any attention to me, Sarah,--I am wicked because I am hungry. You, sir, in that black coat, go away: Sarah is an honest woman and she will not sell her daughter to you, even if you offered her a million. SARAH. _Hotly._ That's right, Ivan, thank you. But who told you, sir, that our Rosa is beautiful? It is not true--don't laugh, it isn't true, she is as ugly as deadly sin. She is as filthy as a dog that has just crawled out of the coal-hole of a ship; her face is furrowed by smallpox and it looks like a field where people dig lime and sand; there is on her right eye a cataract as large as on an old horse. Look at her hair--it is like faded wool, half torn away by birds; and when she walks, she stoops,--I swear to you, she stoops when she walks! If you take her, everybody will laugh at you, everybody will spit at you, the street urchins will give you no rest.... ANATHEMA. _Surprised._ But, madam Leizer, I have heard-- SARAH. _Sorrowfully._ You have heard nothing! I swear to you, you have heard nothing. ANATHEMA. But you yourself-- SARAH. _Imploringly._ Have I said anything? My God, women are so talkative, sir; and they love their children so dearly that they always consider them beautiful. Rosa--beautiful! (_Laughs._) Just think of it, Purikes,--Rosa is beautiful! _She laughs. Rosa comes over from the direction of the city. Her hair is disheveled, almost covering her black, flashing eyes; her face is smeared with something black, and she is dressed wretchedly. She walks with a youthful and stately gait, but on noticing the strange man, she stoops like an old woman._ SARAH. Here, here is Rosa; look, sir! My God, how ugly she is. David cries every time he sees her. ROSA. _Offended, straightens herself._ There are uglier women than I am. SARAH. _Persuasively._ What are you saying, Rosa? There is no uglier girl than you in the whole world. (_Whispers entreatingly._) Hide your beauty, Rosa. A robber has come, Rosa,--hide your beauty! At night I will wash your face myself, I will comb your braids myself, and you will be as beautiful as a heavenly angel, and we will all pray to you. A robber has come, Rosa. (_Aloud._) Did they throw stones at you again? ROSA. _Hoarsely._ Yes, they did. SARAH. And the dogs attacked you, too? ROSA. Yes, they did.-- SARAH. So you see, sir? Even the dogs! ANATHEMA. _In a friendly tone._ Yes, it seems that I have made a mistake. To my regret, your daughter is really not pretty and it is painful to look at her. SARAH. Of course, there are uglier girls than she is, but--Go, Rosochka, go over there, take your work--What is there for a poor and ugly girl to do but work? Go, my poor Rosochka, go.