_Fèkla._ The dowry? Well, there’s a stone house in the Moscow borough,[2] two-storied; it brings in such a profit that it’s a pleasure to think of: one corndealer pays seven hundred for his shop; then there are wine-vaults that attract plenty of customers; two wooden wings, one entirely wooden and the other with a stone basement: they bring in an income of four hundred roubles each. Well then, there’s a market-garden on the Vỳborgskaya[3] side. The year before last a merchant took it for cabbage-farming; and such a good sober fellow—never touches a drop of drink—and he’s got three sons; he has married two of them, “but the third,” says he, “is too young; he can stay in the shop and see after the business. I’m getting old,” says he, “so it’s time for my son to stay in the shop and see that the business goes on all right.” _Pod._ Well, but tell me what she’s like to look at. _Fèkla._ Like sugar-candy! Pink and white, like roses and cream.... Sweeter than honey; sweeter than I can say! I tell you, you’ll be over head and ears in love with her; you’ll go about to all your friends and enemies and say, “I’ve got something to thank Fèkla Ivànovna for.” _Pod._ Well, I don’t know; she’s not a staff-officer’s daughter. _Fèkla._ No; but she belongs to the third guild. And then she’s one that even a general needn’t be ashamed of. Why, she won’t even hear of a merchant. “I don’t care,” says she, “what my husband’s like; I don’t even care if he’s ugly, but he must be a noble.” There’s a real lady for you! And you should just see her on Sundays, when she puts on a silk dress. Dear Lord! How it rustles! Like any princess. _Pod._ Well, you see, that’s why I asked you, because I’m an aulic counsellor; and so—you understand.... _Fèkla._ Of course I understand. There was an aulic counsellor that tried for her already, but she refused him; she didn’t like him. But then he had such a strange way with him; he was all right to look at, but he couldn’t speak a word without telling lies. It wasn’t his fault, poor fellow; the Lord made him so. He was sorry enough himself about it, but he just couldn’t help lying; it was God’s will, that’s clear. _Pod._ And is she the only girl you’ve got on hand? _Fèkla._ Why, what do you want with another? She’s the best you could possibly have. _Pod._ You don’t really mean that? _Fèkla._ If you look all over the world, you won’t find another like her. _Pod._ Well, little mother, we’ll think it over, we’ll think it over. You’d better come again to-morrow. I’ll tell you what: you come again, and we’ll have a comfortable time; I’ll lie on the sofa, and you shall tell me about her. _Fèkla._ Come, little father, that’s too much of a good thing! I’ve been at your beck and call for more than two months, and nothing’s come of it yet; all you ever do is to sit in your dressing-gown and smoke a pipe.