_Dàrya (comes up to_ MATRYÒNA _and speaks softly)._ Matryòna Sàvishna, Vasìli Gavrìlych was saying to Ivàn Petròvich, “Of course,” says he, “it’s quite a different thing for you,” says he. “Matryòna Sàvishna’s a married woman ... and, of course ... But Màrya Antìpovna,” says he, “she’s a young girl ... and it isn’t ... like as if, you know ... and somehow or other,” says he, “’tis a bad business. Why,” says he, “for all I know, they may go and marry her to some shopkeeper with a beard; and then what’s the use of my putting myself out?” says he. “Of course that don’t mean as I’m not”—there, you understand me, ma’am.... “But I’m a poor man,” says he.... “I’d be glad enough to marry her,” says he, “but,” says he, “what’s the use of my going poking my nose in?” It was Vasìli Gavrìlych as said this to Ivàn Petròvich, you know, ma’am. “It’s quite a different thing for you,” says he; “Matryòna Sàvishna’s a married woman ... any sort of thing can happen with an official, you know.... Wintertime,” says he, ... “Well, and a fine cloak of racoon fur.... Anyways”—— _Matryòna._ Oh! you silly girl! Why, you should have said—— _Dàrya (listening)._ Little mother! it’s the master hisself come in! (_Goes to the window._) Yes, it is; he’s going in at the door. _Matryòna._ Well, then, you take the message while we’re at tea. _Dàrya._ Yes’m. _Voice in the ante-room._ Wife! I say! wife! Matryòna Sàvishna! _Matryòna._ What’s the matter? _Antìp (enters)._ Good evening, wife. Why, how you jump! Who did you think it was? (_Kisses her._) Give us another kiss. (_Caressing her playfully._) _Matryòna (shrinking away)._ That’ll do, Antìp Antìpych! Let me alone! Oh! what a nuisance you are! _Antìp._ But I want a kiss. _Matryòna._ Oh! leave off, for goodness’ sake! _Antìp._ I daresay! (_Kisses her._) What a jolly little wife it is! That’s the sort of wife to have! (_Sits on the sofa._) Do you know what, Matryòna Sàvishna? _Matryòna._ What now? _Antìp._ It would be jolly to have some tea now. (_Stares at the ceiling, and puffs._) _Matryòna._ Dàrya! (_Enter_ DÀRYA.) _Matryòna._ Bring the samovar; and ask Stepanìda Trofimovna for the keys. (_Exit_ DÀRYA. _Silence._ MÀRYA _sits at her embroidery_; MATRYÒNA _beside her_; ANTÌP _looks about the room, sighing._) _Antìp (sternly)._ Wife! come here! _Matryòna._ What now? _Antìp (striking the table with his fist)._ Come here, I tell you! _Matryòna._ Why, are you gone crazy? _Antìp (drumming on the table)._ What do you expect me to do with you? _Matryòna._ Whatever can it be? (_Timidly._) Antìp Antìpych? _Antìp._ Eh? Frightened you? (_Bursts out laughing._) No, my lass! It was only my little joke. (_Sighs._) Can’t we have tea? _Matryòna._ In a minute. Why, bless my heart, you won’t die! _Antìp._ Well, it’s so dull to sit and do nothing. (_Enter_ STEPANÌDA TROFIMOVNA; _then_ DÀRYA _carrying the samovar._)