"My, what a heap of money! We could not spend that much in a year. Another thing I meant to ask you, is it true that actresses are treated as if they were not real women?"
The priest became so alarmed that his cassock flew open; but seeing that Anninka took the question quite indifferently, he said to himself, "Eh—eh—she is really a hard nut to crack," and felt reassured.
"What do you mean 'not real women?'" she asked.
"Well, they kiss and embrace. I heard they must do it whether they want to or not."
"No, they don't kiss—they only pretend to. And as to whether they want to or not, that is out of the question entirely, because everything is done according to the play. They must act whatever is written in the play."
"Yes, but even if it's in the play—you know—sometimes a man with a slabbery snout sidles up to you. He is loathsome to look at, but you've got to hold your lips ready to let him kiss you."
A blush suffused Anninka's face. There suddenly flashed up in her memory the slabbery face of the brave Captain Papkov, who had actually "sidled up to her" and, alas! not even in accordance with the play.
"You have a wrong notion of what takes place on the stage," she said drily.
"Of course, we've never been to the theatre, but I am sure many things happen there. Father and I have often been speaking about you, madam. We are sorry for you, very sorry, indeed."
Anninka was silent. The priest tugged at his beard as if he, too, had finally gathered up enough courage to say something.