TÁNYA. I beg your pardon, but the footman has just gone away. This way, sir. Allow me, please. [Takes his fur cloak].
SAHÁTOF [adjusting his clothes] Is Leoníd Fyódoritch at home? Is he up? [Bell rings].
TÁNYA. Oh yes, sir. He's been up a long time.
Doctor enters and looks round for the footman. Sees Sahátof and addresses him in an offhand manner.
DOCTOR. Ah, my respects to you!
SAHÁTOF [looks fixedly at him] The Doctor, I believe?
DOCTOR. And I thought you were abroad! Dropped in to see Leoníd Fyódoritch?
SAHÁTOF. Yes. And you? Is any one ill?
DOCTOR [laughing] Not exactly ill, but, you know … It's awful with these ladies! Sits up at cards till three every morning, and pulls her waist into the shape of a wine-glass. And the lady is flabby and fat, and carries the weight of a good many years on her back.
SAHÁTOF. Is this the way you state your diagnosis to Anna Pávlovna? I should hardly think it quite pleases her!