Uncouth. I see now myself, wifey, that it is too tight.
Beastly. But I don’t see that. My good fellow, the caftan is just right.
Mrs. Uncouth (to Tríshka). Get out, you beast! (To Eremyéevna.) Go, Eremyéevna, and give the child his breakfast. I am afraid the teachers will soon be here.
Eremyéevna. My lady, he has deigned to eat five rolls ere this.
Mrs. Uncouth. So you are too stingy to give him the sixth, you beast? What zeal! I declare!
Eremyéevna. I meant it for his health, my lady. I am looking out for Mitrofán Teréntevich: he has been ill all night.
Mrs. Uncouth. Oh, Holy Virgin! What was the matter with you, darling Mitrofán?
Mitrofán. I don’t know what, mamma. I was bent with pain ever since last night’s supper.
Beastly. My good fellow, I guess you have had too solid a supper.
Mitrofán. Why, uncle! I have eaten hardly anything.