KRASNÓV. What's there to be happy about?
ARKHÍP. Why are you so sad? What's your sorrow?
KRASNÓV. It's my sorrow, grandfather, mine. My very own. It's for me to judge of it.
ARKHÍP. Well, as you choose! It's your sorrow, and for you to bear. [Pause] If I say anything, you know I'm not your enemy; if you scold me, there's no harm in it. I've lived longer than you, and I've seen more sorrow; maybe what I say will be good for you.
KRASNÓV. It isn't the kind of affair, grandfather, that needs advice! You can't tell me anything.
ARKHÍP. You're foolish, foolish! How do you know? Are you wiser than the rest of us?
KRASNÓV. Please stop. I can't discuss with you. What do you want? Strikes the spoon against the bowl angrily. LUKÉRYA enters, places a bowl of mush on the table, and goes out.
ARKHÍP. Your wife is wiser than you, really wiser.
KRASNÓV. If she were wise she'd obey her husband.
ARKHÍP. Not necessarily! One can't be on one's guard every minute! Don't you hold anger for every little thing. One wrong—is no wrong; and two wrongs—a half wrong; it takes three wrongs to make a whole wrong.