MATRYÓNA. We know what to do. You do your share!
NIKÍTA. You'll be getting me into a mess!
MATRYÓNA. What? You're not thinking of backing out, are you? Now it's come to this, and you back out!
NIKÍTA. Think what a thing it would be! It's a living soul.
MATRYÓNA. A living soul indeed! Why, it's more dead than alive. And what's one to do with it? Go and take it to the Foundlings'—it will die just the same, and the rumour will get about, and people will talk, and the girl be left on our hands.
NIKÍTA. And supposing it's found out?
MATRYÓNA. Not manage to do it in one's own house? We'll manage it so that no one will have an inkling. Only do as I tell you. We women can't do it without a man. There, take the spade, and get it done there,—I'll hold the light.
NIKÍTA. What am I to get done?
MATRYÓNA [in a low voice] Dig a hole; then we'll bring it out and get it out of the way in a trice! There, she's calling again. Now then, get in, and I'll go.
NIKÍTA. Is it dead then?