Pras. Nonsense, there is nothing to fear.
Fomá. [throwing his coat over his back]. I will go with you to the corner of the street.
Ast. [shuffling the cards]. I must try one for myself.
Fomá. [mockingly]. What's the use? It will never come out.
Ast. [cheerfully]. Oh, it never does to be discouraged.
[Exeunt Praskóvya, Varvára, and Fomá. Astéryi plays patience. Everything is silent and monotonous again. The clock ticks.]
Fomá. [reënters, dancing and singing roguishly to the tune of the Russian folksong, "Vo sadú li v vogoróde"]:
In the shade there walked a maid
As fair as any flower,
Picking posies all of roses
For to deck her bower.
Ast. Don't make such a noise.
Fomá. I can't help it. I'm gay. I have a sympathetic soul. I rejoice with Praskóvya Petróvna. I think she is mad, but I rejoice with her.