_Koch._ Look here! it’s I that ought to be angry with you, not you with me. You hide everything from me, your friend. You think of marrying? _Pod._ What nonsense! I never thought of such a thing. _Koch._ My friend, you’re caught in the act! (_Points to_ FÈKLA.) There she stands; everybody knows what sort of bird _she_ is. Ah, well! never mind; there’s nothing to be ashamed of; it’s a good Christian action—indeed, it’s necessary for the good of the State. I don’t mind; I’ll take the whole responsibility of it. (_To_ FÈKLA.) Well, tell me who she is, and all about her. What class does she belong to?—noble, official, merchant? And what’s her name? _Fèkla._ Agàfia Tikhònovna. _Koch._ Agàfia Tikhònovna Brandakhlỳstova? _Fèkla._ No, no! Kouperdyàgina. _Koch._ Ah! she lives in the Shestilàvochna, doesn’t she? _Fèkla._ No, she doesn’t, then! She lives near Peskì, in the Mỳlny Row. _Koch._ Oh, yes; in the Mỳlny Row; a wooden house, next door to a shop, isn’t it? _Fèkla._ No, it isn’t. It’s beyond the wine-vaults. _Koch._ Beyond the wine-vaults! Then I don’t remember. _Fèkla._ Well, when you turn into the Row, you see a stall; and you pass the stall and turn to the left; and there, straight in front of you, just right before your eyes, there’s a wooden house, where a dressmaker lives; you don’t go into the dressmaker’s, you go on to the next house but one; it’s a stone house, and that’s where she lives—Agàfia Tikhònovna. _Koch._ All right, all right! now I can manage it all. You can go now; we don’t want you any more. _Fèkla._ What’s that? Do you mean to say that you mean to settle a wedding yourself? _Koch._ Yes, yes, myself—only don’t you interfere. _Fèkla._ Oh, for shame! for shame! That’s not a man’s business! Little father, keep out of it. _Koch._ Be off! be off! you don’t understand anything about it; don’t interfere; mind your own business, and get along with you! _Fèkla._ All you care for is to take the bread out of people’s mouths;—you’re no better than an infidel! A man! and to mix up in things like that! If I’d known, I wouldn’t have told you a word. (_Exit sulkily._) _Koch._ Now, my lad, this business musn’t be put off—put on your hat and come along. _Pod._ Well, but I—I—I haven’t decided—I was only thinking—— _Koch._ Fiddle-de-dee! Only don’t be bashful: I’ll get you married as finely as you like. We’ll go straight off to the lady now, and you’ll see how fast we’ll get it all settled. _Pod._ What, go off now! What next will you want? _Koch._ Bless my soul, man, what would you have? Now, just think yourself what comes of not being married. Look at the condition of your room—there’s a muddy boot—there’s a washing basin—there’s a heap of tobacco on the table; and here you lie on your side, the whole day long, like a regular stick-in-the-mud. _Pod._ It’s quite true; I know myself everything’s in a muddle in this house.