Pereshìvkina. Never mind, little mother, never mind. Let him do as he likes, he was always such a one to joke. When he was quite a little fellow he set my cap on fire behind.
Paul. Ah! so you haven’t forgotten.
Pereshìvkina. Not I. Why, you burnt off all my hair, and even my face got scorched. But you needn’t laugh at me, sir. Maybe I shall come in useful to you yet.
Paul. Why, what use can I make of you? Stick you up in the kitchen garden for a scarecrow?
Pereshìvkina. Maybe I can do you a better service than that, Pàvel Petròvich—who knows? Little mother, you won’t get angry with my nonsense, will you? Maybe, after all, I shall say something worth hearing before I’ve done.
Madame P. Well, what is it?
Pereshìvkina. There’s a lady I know—Serafima Kàrpovna, her name is. She always allows me into her house. You see how it is, little mother. Her people are in trade, but she’s been married to a very grand gentleman—Mr. Aslàmevich. He was an official, you know. Why, little mother, he was a general once.
Paul (laughing). How did that happen?
Pereshìvkina. Why, this way, sir. The general where he served was away for a holiday, so he was general for a whole month.
Paul. I daresay! Well, let’s hear some more lies.