SERVANTS' COOK. Well, daddy, so I peeped in. Dear me, what it was like! All of 'em in their natural skins! Would you believe it: old women—our mistress, only think, she's a grandmother, and even she'd gone and bared her shoulders.
THIRD PEASANT. Oh Lord!
SERVANTS' COOK. And what next? The music strikes up, and each man of 'em went up to his own, catches hold of her, and off they go twirling round and round!
SECOND PEASANT. The old women too?
SERVANTS' COOK. Yes, the old ones too.
SIMON. No, the old ones sit still.
SERVANTS' COOK. Get along,—I've seen it myself!
SIMON. No they don't.
DISCHARGED COOK [in a hoarse voice, looking down from the oven] That's the Polka-Mazurka. You fools don't understand what dancing is. The way they dance …
SERVANTS' COOK. Shut up, you dancer! And keep quiet—there's some one coming.