USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. What's the use of talking, my dear, what's the use! Now, I've been bustling about, bustling about for you, Agraféna Kondrátyevna; trudging, trudging over the pavement, and at last I've grubbed up a suitable man: you'll gasp for joy, my jewels, for a fact. AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. At last you're talking sense! USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. A man of birth and of standing; such a grandee as you never even dreamed of. AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. I see I'll have to ask Samsón Sílych for a couple of fivers for you. USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. That's all right, my jewel, I don't mind! And he has peasants, wears a norder on his neck; and as for intellect, why, he's simply a bonanza. AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. Then, Ustinya Naúmovna, you ought to have informed him that our daughter hasn't got piles of money. USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. But he doesn't know where to put his own. AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. That would be good, and jolly good; only, look here, Ustinya Naúmovna, and just consider it yourself, my friend: what am I going to do with a nobleman for a son-in-law? I shan't dare say a word to him; I'll be all at sea. USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. It's a little scary at first, my jewel, but afterwards you'll get used to things, you'll manage somehow or other. But, here, we must talk a bit with Samsón Sílych; he may even know him, this man of ours. SCENE VIII _The same and_ RISPOLÓZHENSKY RISPOLÓZHENSKY. [_Entering_] I've come to you, my dear Agraféna Kondrátyevna. I was going to have a talk with Samsón Sílych, but he was busy, I saw, so I thought: now, I'll go to Agraféna Kondrátyevna. By the way, is that vodka, near you? I'll just take a thimbleful, Agraféna Kondrátyevna. [_Drinks._ AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. With my compliments, my dear sir. Please sit down, won't you? How are you getting along? RISPOLÓZHENSKY. What a life I live! Well, I'm just loafing, Agraféna Kondrátyevna; you know yourself, my family's large, business is dull. But I don't grumble; it's a sin to grumble, Agraféna Kondrátyevna. AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. That's the last thing in the world to do, my dear sir. RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Whoever grumbles, I think, offends against God, Agraféna Kondrátyevna. This is the way it happened-- AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. What are your front names, my dear sir? I keep forgetting. RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Sysóy Psoich, my dear Agraféna Kondrátyevna. USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. What does Psoich mean, my jewel? What lingo is that[1]? [Footnote 1: The name lends itself to the interpretation, "son of a dog (_pes_)."] RISPOLÓZHENSKY. I can't tell you positively: they called my father Psoy--well, naturally, that makes me Psoich. USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. But, Psoich, like that, Psoich! However, that's nothing; there are worse, my jewel. AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. Well, Sysóy Psoich, what was it you were going to tell us?