_Fèkla._ (_angrily_). What’s all that guffaw about? (KOCHKARYÒV _goes on laughing_.) Well, you needn’t go into a fit! _Koch._ Matchmaker! matchmaker! She knows her business! she knows how to arrange marriages! (_Continues to laugh._) _Fèkla._ You’re a wonderful one to laugh; I should think your mother went daft the hour that you were born. (_Exit angrily._) _Koch._ (_continues to laugh_). Oh! I can’t!... I can’t really!... It’s too much!... I shall die of laughing!... (_Continues to laugh._ ZHEVÀKIN _looks at him and begins to laugh too_.) _Koch._ (_throws himself into a chair exhausted_). Oh!... Oh! dear!... I’m half killed!... If I laugh any more I shall simply die!... _Zhev._ I admire your merry character. When I was in the navy, there was a midshipman in Captain Voldyrèv’s squadron—Pyetoukhòv his name was, Antòn Ivànovich—he was very merry too; sometimes, if you’d just lift up one finger—so—he’d set off laughing, and he’d laugh the whole day long. Really, just to look at him was enough to put one into a laughing mood; and at last you’d begin to laugh yourself. _Koch._ (_recovering his breath_). Oh! Lord! have mercy upon us sinners! What has the idiot got into her head? As if _she_ knew how to arrange a marriage! She, indeed! Now, if I arrange a marriage, it’s another matter! _Zhev._ Do you seriously mean that you can get people married? _Koch._ Of course I do. I can marry anybody to anybody. _Zhev._ In that case, marry me to the lady of this house. _Koch._ You? What do you want to be married for? _Zhev._ How “what for?” Allow me to remark that is rather a strange question. What do people want to get married for? _Koch._ But you heard that she has no dowry. _Zhev._ That can’t be helped. Of course it’s unfortunate; but with such a very charming girl, so well brought up, one can live even without a dowry. A modest room (_gesticulating_), here a little entrance-hall, there a small screen or some kind of partition, you know—— _Koch._ What’s there in her you like so much? _Zhev._ To tell you the truth, she took my fancy because she is plump. I’m a great connoisseur in feminine plumpness. _Koch._ (_looking askance at him; aside_). The old mummy may give himself airs; but he’s for all the world like a pouch with the tobacco shaken out. (_Aloud._) No; you have no business to be married at all. _Zhev._ Why so? _Koch._ It’s plain enough why. Look what your figure’s like! Between ourselves, you’ve got a leg like a chicken’s. _Zhev._ A chicken’s? _Koch._ Certainly. Just see what you look like. _Zhev._ What do you mean, though, about a chicken’s leg? _Koch._ Just simply a chicken’s. _Zhev._ It appears to me, sir, that this approaches to a personality.... _Koch._ I say this to you because I know you’re a sensible man. I shouldn’t say it to everybody. However, I’ll get you married, if you like, only to another woman.