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 around 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!