_Sabitri._ Be happy, be the mother of seven sons. (_Coughing aside._) My eldest Bou, just go into the room, I think my son is up. Oh! my son has no regular time for bathing, neither for taking food. My Nobin is become very weak by mere vain thoughts—(_aside_, “Aduri”) Oh! my daughter, go in soon, I think, he is asking for water. _Soirindri._ (_Aside, to Aduri._) Aduri, calling for you. _Aduri._ Calling for me, but asking for you. _Soirindri._ Thou burnt-faced. Sister Ghose meet me another day. (_Exit Soirindri._) _Reboti._ O my mother, here is none else. Some great danger has fallen upon me, that Podi Moyrani came to our house yesterday. _Sabitri._ Rama! Rama! Rama! who allows that nasty fool to enter his house? What is left of her virtue? She has only to write her name in the public notices. _Reboti._ My mother, but what shall I do! My house is not an enclosed one. When our males go to take dinner outside, the house is no more a house; but you may call it a mart. That strumpet says (I do shrink at the thought), she says, that the young Saheb is become, as it were, mad at seeing Khetromani; and wants to see her in the Factory. _Aduri._ Fye! fye! fye! bad smell of the onion! Can we go to the Saheb. Fye! fye! bad smell of the onion! I shall never be out any more alone. I can bear every other thing, but the smell of the onion I can never bear. Fye! fye! bad smell of the onion! _Reboti._ But, my mother, is not the virtue of the poor actual virtue? That fool[15] says, he will give money, give grants of lands for the cultivation of rice; and also give some employment to our son-in-law. Fie! fie! to money. Is virtue something to be sold? Has it any price? What can I say? That fool was an agent of the Saheb, or else I would have broken her mouth with one kick. My daughter is become thunder-struck from yesterday; and now and then, she is starting with fear. _Aduri._ Oh, the Beard! When he speaks, it is like a he-goat twisting about its mouth. For my part, I would never be able to go there as long as he does not leave off his onions and beard. Fie! fie! fie! the bad smell of the onion. _Reboti._ Mother, again that unfortunate fool says, if you do not send her with me, I shall take her away by certain latyals. _Sabitri._ What more is the Burmese (Mug) power? Can anyone take away a woman from a house in the British Dominion?