Mrs. Popov. Very well. [She rings the bell.]
[Enter Luka.]
Mrs. Popov. Luka, show the gentleman out.
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!