SMIRNOV. A glass of vodka! [Exit LUKA] Ouf! [Sits and inspects himself] I must say I look well! Dust all over, boots dirty, unwashed, unkempt, straw on my waistcoat.... The dear lady may well have taken me for a brigand. [Yawns] It’s rather impolite to come into a drawing-room in this state, but it can’t be helped.... I am not here as a visitor, but as a creditor, and there’s no dress specially prescribed for creditors.... [Enter LUKA with the vodka.] LUKA. You allow yourself to go very far, sir.... SMIRNOV [Angrily] What? LUKA. I... er... nothing... I really... SMIRNOV. Whom are you talking to? Shut up! LUKA. [Aside] The devil’s come to stay.... Bad luck that brought him.... [Exit.] SMIRNOV. Oh, how angry I am! So angry that I think I could grind the whole world to dust.... I even feel sick.... [Yells] Waiter! [Enter POPOVA.] POPOVA. [Her eyes downcast] Sir, in my solitude I have grown unaccustomed to the masculine voice, and I can’t stand shouting. I must ask you not to disturb my peace. SMIRNOV. Pay me the money, and I’ll go. POPOVA. I told you perfectly plainly; I haven’t any money to spare; wait until the day after to-morrow. SMIRNOV. And I told you perfectly plainly I don’t want the money the day after to-morrow, but to-day. If you don’t pay me to-day, I’ll have to hang myself to-morrow. POPOVA. But what can I do if I haven’t got the money? You’re so strange! SMIRNOV. Then you won’t pay me now? Eh? POPOVA. I can’t. SMIRNOV. In that case I stay here and shall wait until I get it. [Sits down] You’re going to pay me the day after to-morrow? Very well! I’ll stay here until the day after to-morrow. I’ll sit here all the time.... [Jumps up] I ask you: Have I got to pay the interest to-morrow, or haven’t I? Or do you think I’m doing this for a joke? POPOVA. Please don’t shout! This isn’t a stable! SMIRNOV. I wasn’t asking you about a stable, but whether I’d got my interest to pay to-morrow or not? POPOVA. You don’t know how to behave before women! SMIRNOV. No, I do know how to behave before women! POPOVA. No, you don’t! You’re a rude, ill-bred man! Decent people don’t talk to a woman like that! SMIRNOV. What a business! How do you want me to talk to you? In French, or what? [Loses his temper and lisps] _Madame, je vous prie_.... How happy I am that you don’t pay me.... Ah, pardon. I have disturbed you! Such lovely weather to-day! And how well you look in mourning! [Bows.] POPOVA. That’s silly and rude.