No, in the next world it's you who'll be scrubbing floors, and I'll sit with folded hands like a lady. In heaven we'll be the first ones, while you and your Savva, for your pride and your hard hearts—
LIPA
Now, Polya, am I not sorry for you?
YEGOR IVANOVICH TROPININ (enters, still sleepy, his beard turned to one side, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned; breathing heavily) Whew! Say, Polya, bring me some cider. Quick! (Pause) Who opened the window?
LIPA
I did.
YEGOR
What for?
LIPA
It's hot. The stove in the restaurant makes it so close here you can't breathe.