Nikíta (does not heed her, but listens by the cellar door). I can hear nothing! I suppose it was fancy! (Moves away, then stops.) How the little bones crunched under me. Krr ... kr.... What have they made me do? (Listens again.) Again whimpering! It's really whimpering! What can it be? Mother! Mother, I say!
[Goes up to her.
Matryóna. What is it, sonny?
Nikíta. Mother, my own mother, I can't do any more! Can't do any more! My own mother, have some pity on me!
Matryóna. Oh dear, how frightened you are, my darling! Come, come, drink a drop to give you courage!
Nikíta. Mother, mother! It seems my time has come! What have you done with me? How the little bones crunched, and how it whimpered! My own mother! What have you done with me?
[Steps aside and sits down on the sledge.
Matryóna. Come, my own, have a drink! It certainly does seem uncanny at night-time. But wait a bit. When the day breaks, you know, and one day and another passes, you'll forget even to think of it. Wait a bit; when the girl's married we'll even forget to think of it. But you go and have a drink; have a drink! I'll go and put things straight in the cellar myself.
Nikíta (rouses himself). Is there any drink left? Perhaps I can drink it off!
[Exit.