Theodore Ivánitch. Yes, that will never do. I'll go and ask about it.
Coachman. They'd better be brought here to Loukérya.
Servants' Cook (angrily). People have to eat here, and you'd like to lock dogs in here! As it is....
Coachman. And I've got the liveries, and the sledge-covers and the harness there, and they expect things kept clean! Perhaps the porter's lodge might do.
Theodore Ivánitch. I must ask Vasíly Leoníditch.
Coachman (angrily). He'd better hang the brutes round his neck and lug them about with him! But no fear: he'd rather ride on horseback himself. It's he as spoilt. Beauty without rhyme or reason. That was a horse!... Oh, dear! what a life!
[Exit, slamming door.
Theodore Ivánitch. That's not right! Certainly not right! (To PEASANTS.) Well, then, it's time we were saying good-bye, friends.
Peasants. Good-bye!
[Exit THEODORE IVÁNITCH.