FERAPONT. Yes’m. [Exit.]
OLGA. Nurse, dear, let them have everything. We don’t want anything. Give it all to them, nurse.... I’m tired, I can hardly keep on my legs.... The Vershinins mustn’t be allowed to go home.... The girls can sleep in the drawing-room, and Alexander Ignateyevitch can go downstairs to the Baron’s flat... Fedotik can go there, too, or else into our dining-room.... The doctor is drunk, beastly drunk, as if on purpose, so nobody can go to him. Vershinin’s wife, too, may go into the drawing-room.
ANFISA. [Tired] Olga, dear girl, don’t dismiss me! Don’t dismiss me!
OLGA. You’re talking nonsense, nurse. Nobody is dismissing you.
ANFISA. [Puts OLGA’S head against her bosom] My dear, precious girl, I’m working, I’m toiling away... I’m growing weak, and they’ll all say go away! And where shall I go? Where? I’m eighty. Eighty-one years old....
OLGA. You sit down, nurse dear.... You’re tired, poor dear.... [Makes her sit down] Rest, dear. You’re so pale!
[NATASHA comes in.]
NATASHA. They are saying that a committee to assist the sufferers from the fire must be formed at once. What do you think of that? It’s a beautiful idea. Of course the poor ought to be helped, it’s the duty of the rich. Bobby and little Sophy are sleeping, sleeping as if nothing at all was the matter. There’s such a lot of people here, the place is full of them, wherever you go. There’s influenza in the town now. I’m afraid the children may catch it.
OLGA. [Not attending] In this room we can’t see the fire, it’s quiet here.
NATASHA. Yes... I suppose I’m all untidy. [Before the looking-glass] They say I’m growing stout... it isn’t true! Certainly it isn’t! Masha’s asleep; the poor thing is tired out.... [Coldly, to ANFISA] Don’t dare to be seated in my presence! Get up! Out of this! [Exit ANFISA; a pause] I don’t understand what makes you keep on that old woman!