[General enthusiasm.
Vasíly Leoníditch. Ah! So that's where our spoon was. (To PEASANTS.) Then that's the sort you are!
Third Peasant. What sort? I didn't take your spoon! What are you making out? I didn't take it, and my soul knows nothing about it. I didn't take it—there! Let him do what he likes. I knew he came here for no good. "Where's your bag?" says he. I didn't take it, the Lord is my witness! (Crosses himself.) I didn't take it!
[The young people group round the PEASANT, laughing.
Leoníd Fyódoritch (angrily to his son). Always playing the fool! (To the THIRD PEASANT.) Never mind, friend! We know you did not take it; it was only an experiment.
Grossman (removes bandage from his eyes, and pretends to be coming to). Can I have a little water?
[All fuss round him.
Vasíly Leoníditch. Let's go straight from here into the coachman's room. I've got a bitch [there—épâtante!] [7]
Betsy. What a horrid word! Couldn't you say dog?
Vasíly Leoníditch. No. I can't say—Betsy is a man, épâtante. I should have to say young woman; it's a parallel case. Eh, what? Márya Konstantínovna, isn't it true? Good, eh?