Second C. Because they’re so strong, you see!
First C. Nothing can stand against them. It’s like when they had the militia ... eleven vershkòv high, and could lift fifteen poods. And there they’d advance on you! Then, bang, bang, bang goes the big drum, and they all shout, Forwards! March! Treason! And there they come on and on, and what can you do?
Second C. In course they must get the better of them; that’s plain.
First C. You see, the one that wins, that’ll be which ever is strongest.
Matryòna. I’m perfectly tired of hearing you. You’re fine soldiers ... do your fighting sitting by the oven. War can’t be such a very dreadful thing after all.
First C. (glances sideways at Matryòna with absolute contempt): Brazen hussy!
Matryòna. Madame’s waiting; do you hear?
Second C. (hangs whip on right arm, and gives left hand to First C.). Good-bye!
First C. Good-bye, my lad! (Exit behind house. Matryòna goes on to gallery.)