"But you are a Slavophil: you believe in the principles of the Domostroi,[3] and would like always to be holding over women a scourge."
"A scourge is not a bad thing in its proper place," observed Bazarov. "But, seeing that we have reached the last drop of, of——"
"Of what?" said Evdoksia.
"Of champagne, most respected Avdotia Nikitishna—not of your blood."
"Never when I hear my sex abused can I listen with indifference," resumed Evdoksia. "It is all too horrible, too horrible! Instead of attacking us, people ought to read Michel's[4] De l'Amour. What a wonderful work it is! Let us talk of love."
She posed her arm gracefully upon the tumbled cushions of the sofa.
There fell a sudden silence.
"What is there to say concerning love?" at length said Bazarov. "In passing, you mentioned a certain Madame Odintsov (I think that was the name?). Who is she?"
"A very charming woman," squeaked Sitnikov, "as well as clever, rich, and a widow. Unfortunately, she is not sufficiently developed, and a closer acquaintance with our Evdoksia would do her a world of good. Evdoksia, I drink to your health! Let us sing the honours. 'Et toc, et toc, et tin, tin, tin! Et toc, et toc, et tin, tin, tin!'"
"You scamp, Victor!"