Irena: False friends? Take care what you say, Stepan Stepanovitch. When you talk about false friends remember how you betrayed Nicolai Nicolaivitch at Moscow, and so on. Think of the Cheka and all that, before you talk of disloyalty, my little wood pigeon.
Bougárov (sneering): And remember that even if I am a dying man with heart disease and paralysis, I’ve got people in my house who are good enough to settle the hash of a lame hen like you, honoured Stepan Stepanovitch Rumbunkski.
Rumbunkski: Ah, you threaten, do you? Wait a bit.... Ah, Little Fathers, this poison. I’m dead again. (He falls over sideways.)
Irena Ivanovna (screaming at Bougárov): He’s dead. Unnatural father. Murderer.
Bougárov (at the top of his voice): Don’t yell like that. You inflict me with the most acute palpitations.... I can’t see.... I’m a dead man. (He sinks back in his chair.)
Irena Ivanovna: Little Fathers and Mothers!... I must escape. (She drains the vodka bottle and falls prostrate. They all lie motionless. You think they are dead; but they are not. Just as the light is failing they come to life one by one and resume their dispute. The fall of the curtain and the end of the play leave nothing decided.)
Rumbunkski: Ah! Little Fathers, this poison——
KING DAVID I
(An Historical Drama in the manner sometimes attributed to the Lord Verulam.)