LUKA. [Going to Smirnov.] Sir, why don't you leave when you are ordered? What do you want?
SMIRNOV. [Jumping up.] Whom do you think you are talking to? I'll grind you to powder.
LUKA. [Puts his hand to his heart.] Good Lord! [He drops into a chair.] Oh, I'm ill; I can't breathe!
MRS. POPOV. Where is Dascha? [Calling.] Dascha! Pelageja! Dascha!
[She rings.
LUKA. They're all gone! I'm ill! Water!
MRS. POPOV. [To Smirnov.] Leave! Get out!
SMIRNOV. Kindly be a little more polite!
MRS. POPOV. [Striking her fists and stamping her feet.] You are vulgar! You're a boor! A monster!
SMIRNOV. What did you say?