TATYÁNA. What kind of judge are you, anyway? My husband never says anything to me, and yet you dare to put in your opinion!
AFÓNYA. Yes, but he's blinded by you, blinded. You've given him some sort of love-charm.
LUKÉRYA. Keep still, seeing that God has made you a sick man. Tend to your own business; keep on coughing, there's no sin in that.
AFÓNYA. Fool—brother is a fool! He's ruined himself.
LUKÉRYA. Tánya, shouldn't I bring the samovar in here?
TATYÁNA. Yes, and I'll set the cups. [Puts cups on the table. LUKÉRYA goes out] You'd better go into the kitchen.
AFÓNYA. I'm all right here.
TATYÁNA. Strangers are coming and you'll make us gloomy.
AFÓNYA. I won't go.
TATYÁNA. It's a true proverb: "There's no brewing beer with a fool." Our guest is no cheap shopkeeper like your brother. A gentleman is coming, do you hear? What are you fussing about?