Serafima (puts back purse). All right.
Oulìta. Are you sure he doesn’t drink?
Karp. There you are again! Everybody drinks nowadays.
Oulìta. I mean, you’d better ask what he’s like when he’s drunk.
Karp. Ah! that’s another matter!
Oulìta. Because, you know, some people are so quiet in drink that it really doesn’t matter. It’s just as if they weren’t drunk.
Serafima. All right, mamma; I’ll ask. I must go now.
Oulìta. Oh, no! You mus’n’t, indeed; stop a bit. You’re so fond of sweet things.... We’ve got some splendid fruit. Run and fetch it, Matryòna; it’s on my bedroom window-sill. (Matryòna goes out, comes back with fruit, offers it to Serafìma, and then places it on table.) Take some, dear child; take some. Won’t you have some liqueur?
Serafima. Really, mamma!
Oulìta. Have a glass of beer, darling.