Akoulína. Yes, I do. I'll not live with her! I'll turn her out of the house! She can't live here with me. The mistress indeed! She's not the mistress,—that jailbird!
Nikíta. That's enough! What have you to do with her? Don't mind her. You look at me! I am the master! I do as I like. I've ceased to love her, and now I love you. I love who I like! The power is mine, she's under me. That's where I keep her. (Points to his feet.) A pity we've no concertina.
[Sings.
"We have loaves on the stoves,
We have porridge on the shelf.
So we'll live and be gay,
Making merry every day,
And when death comes,
Then we'll die!
We have loaves on the stoves,
We have porridge on the shelf...."
[Enter MÍTRITCH. He takes off his outdoor things and climbs on the oven.
Mítritch. Seems the women have been fighting again! Tearing each other's hair. Oh Lord, gracious Nicholas!
Akím. (sitting on the edge of the oven, takes his leg-bands and shoes and begins putting them on). Get in, get into the corner.
Mítritch. Seems they can't settle matters between them. Oh Lord!
Nikíta. Get out the liquor, we'll have some with our tea.
Nan (to AKOULÍNA). Sister, the samovár is just boiling over.