_Arìna._ You always keep on “official” and “official” you’d better tell us whether he doesn’t drink. _Fèkla._ Yes, he does drink; I wouldn’t tell you a lie—he drinks. But then, you see, he’s a titular counsellor. And then he’s so quiet and gentle. _Agàfia._ No, no; I don’t want to have a drunkard for a husband. _Fèkla._ As you like, little mother. If you don’t care for one you can take another. But after all, what does it matter if a man takes a drop too much sometimes? He’s not drunk the whole week round, you know; some days he’ll come home sober. _Agàfia._ And who else is there? _Fèkla._ There is one more, only he’s not quite the sort.... Never mind him, the others will do better. _Agàfia._ Well, but who is he? _Fèkla._ Really, it’s not worth while talking about him. He’s in a good position—aulic counsellor and all that—but such a slow stick-in-the-mud, there’s no getting him out of the house. _Agàfia._ Well, and who else? You have only told us about five, and you said there were six. _Fèkla._ Surely you don’t want any more? Why, a minute ago you were frightened at so many, and now they’re not enough! _Arìna._ What’s the use of all your noblemen? Even if you have got half a dozen of them, one shopkeeper’s worth the whole lot. _Fèkla._ Oh, no, Arìna Pantelèymovna, a noble is more distinguished, somehow. _Arìna._ What’s the use of being distinguished? Just look at Alexièy Dmìtrievich—what a beautiful sledge he can drive in, and his cap is real sable!... _Fèkla._ Yes, but a nobleman with epaulettes on can drive past and call out, “Out of the road, counterjumper!” or, “Show me your best velvet, shopman!” and then the merchant will have to say, “Certainly, little father!” and the nobleman will say, “Take off your hat, you clown!” That’s what he’ll say. _Arìna._ And if the merchant likes, he won’t give him the stuff; and there’s your nobleman in rags without a thing to put on. _Fèkla._ Then the nobleman will give the shopkeeper a black eye. _Arìna._ Well then, the shopkeeper will go and complain to the police. _Fèkla._ Then the nobleman will complain to the senator. _Arìna._ And the merchant to the governor. _Fèkla._ And the nobleman—— _Arìna._ Fiddlesticks! Fiddlesticks! You and your noblemen! The governor’s grander than any senator! You’re just off your head about noblemen! Don’t tell me—a nobleman can take off his hat as well as any shopkeeper, when there’s a reason why.... (_Door-bell rings._) There’s some one at the door. _Fèkla._ Bless me! It must be they! _Arìna._ Who? _Fèkla._ They.... Some of the suitors. _Agàfia_ (_screams_). Oh! _Arìna._ Holy Saints! Have mercy on us sinners! The room’s in such a muddle! (_Catches up all the things on the table, and runs about the room._) And the table-cloth! Just look at the table-cloth! It’s perfectly black. Douniàshka! Douniàshka! (_Enter_ DOUNIÀSHKA.) Bring a clean table-cloth—quick! (_Pulls off table-cloth and rushes about the room._)