TATYÁNA. Have you started the samovar?
LUKÉRYA. Long ago; it'll boil soon. Well, you see it's just as I told you; that kerchief is much more becoming to you. But why did you stick the pin through it? [Adjusting it] There, that's much better.
AFÓNYA. Where are you dressing up to go to? Why are you prinking so at that mirror?
TATYÁNA. Nowhere; we're going to stay at home.
LUKÉRYA. What business is it of yours? Do you think we ought to be as slovenly as yourself?
AFÓNYA. But who are you fixing up for? For your husband? He loves you more than you deserve even without the fine clothes. Or is it for some one else?
LUKÉRYA. Hear him! A fool, a fool! yet he understands that she's dressing up for some one else.
TATYÁNA. Why should I dress for my husband? He knows me anyway. When I dress, of course it's for a stranger.
AFÓNYA. Who are you going to flirt with? Who are you going to charm? Have you no conscience?
LUKÉRYA. What's the use of arguing with a fool! All he has to do is to chatter. Lies on the stove-couch and plots trouble.