PODKHALYÚZIN. Samsón Sílych, just take into consideration! I'm a stranger, and no relative of yours, but for the sake of your well-being I know no rest by day or by night, my very heart is all withered. But they're marrying to him the young lady who, it may be said, is an indescribable beauty; and they're giving money, sir; but he swaggers and carries it high! Well, is there any soul in him, after all that? BOLSHÓV. Well, if he don't want her he needn't have her, and we won't cry about it. PODKHALYÚZIN. No, Samsón Sílych, you just consider about that: has the man any soul? Here I am, a total stranger, yet I can't see all this without tears. Just understand that, Samsón Sílych! Nobody else would care enough about it to pine away because of another man's business, sir. But you see, even if you drive me out now, even if you beat me, still I won't leave you; because I cannot--I haven't that kind of a heart. BOLSHÓV. But how in the world could you think of leaving me? You see my only hope now is you. I'm old, and my affairs have gotten into a tight fix. Just wait! It may be we'll still swing some kind of a deal such as you're not expecting. PODKHALYÚZIN. Oh, I can't do that, Samsón Sílych. Just understand this much: I'm absolutely not that kind of a man! To anybody else, Samsón Sílych, of course it's all the same; he doesn't care whether the grass grows; but I can't do that way, sir. Kindly see yourself, sir, whether I'm hustling or not. I'm simply wasting away now like some poor devil, on account of your business, sir; because I'm not that kind of a man, sir. I'm doing all this because I feel sorry for you, and not for you so much as for your family. You ought to realize that Agraféna Kondrátyevna is a very tender lady, Olimpiáda Samsónovna a young lady whose like can't be found on earth, sir---- BOLSHÓV. Not on earth? Look here, brother, aren't you hinting around a little? PODKHALYÚZIN. Hinting, sir? No, I didn't mean, sir!---- BOLSHÓV. Aha! Brother, you'd better speak more openly. Are you in love with Olimpiáda Samsónovna? PODKHALYÚZIN. Why, Samsón Sílych, must be you want to joke me. BOLSHÓV. Joke, fiddlesticks! I'm asking you seriously. PODKHALYÚZIN. Good heavens, Samsón Sílych, could I dare think of such a thing, sir? BOLSHÓV. Why shouldn't you dare? Is she a princess or something like that? PODKHALYÚZIN. Maybe she's no princess; but as you've been my benefactor and taken the place of my own father--But no, Samsón Sílych, how is it possible, sir, how can I help feeling it! BOLSHÓV. Well, then, I suppose you don't love her? PODKHALYÚZIN. How can I help loving her, sir? Good gracious, it seems as if I loved her more than anything on earth. But no, Samsón Sílych, how is it possible, sir! BOLSHÓV. You ought to have said: "I love her, you see, more than anything on earth."