bring the sneak back! (_Rushes away. Enter_ AGÀFIA.) _Agàfia._ Really, my heart beats so, I can’t make it out! Whichever way I turn, Ivàn Kouzmìch seems to stand before me. It seems as if one couldn’t escape one’s fate. Just now I wanted to think of something altogether different, but it’s all the same whatever I take up. I’ve tried to wind off some silk and make a reticule, but Ivàn Kouzmìch keeps getting under my hand. (_Silence._) And so now, at last, a change of condition awaits me! They will take me, lead me to the church. Then they will leave me alone with a man—oh! I shudder from head to foot when I think of it. Farewell, my maiden life! (_Weeps._) All these years I have lived in peace. I have just gone on living, and now I must be married! And to think of all the cares of marriage: children, boys—they always quarrel and fight—and then there’ll be girls, and they’ll grow up, and one must get them married. And one is fortunate if they find good husbands. But supposing they marry drunkards, or people that may any day gamble away anything they have! (_Gradually begins to sob again._) I haven’t had time to enjoy my girlhood; I haven’t lived even twenty-seven years unmarried. (_Changing her tone._) I wonder why Ivàn Kouzmìch is so long coming! (_Enter_ PODKOLYÒSSIN, KOCHKARYÒV’S _hands are seen at the door, shoving him forcibly on to the stage_.) _Pod._ I have come, madam, to explain a certain matter—only I should wish to know beforehand whether you will not think it strange—— _Agàfia_ (_dropping her eyes_). What is it? _Pod._ No, madam; tell me first, will you think it strange? _Agàfia._ I can’t. What is it? _Pod._ But confess; I am sure what I am going to say will seem strange to you. _Agàfia._ How is that possible? It is a pleasure to hear anything from you. _Pod._ But you have never heard this thing from me. (AGÀFIA _drops her eyes lower_. KOCHKARYÒV _enters softly, and stands behind_ PODKOLYÒSSIN.) It is about——But perhaps I had better tell you some other time. _Agàfia._ What is it? _Pod._ It is——It’s true, I wanted to explain to you now; but I still feel a little doubtful. _Koch._ (_folding his arms, aside_). Oh! Gracious heavens! What a man! He’s an old woman’s flannel shoe, not a man. He’s a parody of a man, a burlesque of a man! _Agàfia._ Why should you feel doubtful? _Pod._ A sort of doubt keeps coming over me. _Koch._ (_aloud_). Oh! how stupid! Oh! how stupid! This is what it’s about, madam: he asks your hand, and wants to tell you that he can’t live, can’t exist without you; he wants to know—do you consent to make him happy? _Pod._ (_half frightened, excitedly nudging him_). I say! don’t! _Koch._ Can you decide, madam, to render this mortal happy? _Agàfia._ I do not presume to think that I can give happiness——However, I consent. _Koch._ Of course, of course; ought to have been settled long ago! Give me your hands!