Stepanìda. You’ve no call to be ashamed of your own class, my girl.
Antìp. Why, heart alive! Why shouldn’t she dress herself up fine if the money’s there? There’s no harm in it. And as for being a lady, hang me if she isn’t handsomer than any lady when she’s dressed in her best things! By your leave, mother, I don’t think all these fine ladies are worth the trouble of looking at. But just see what my little wife is like.... That’s to say, I mean, what a figure she’s got!... and all that, you know.
Matryòna. Really, Antìp Antìpych, what things you do say!
Màrya. I wonder you’re not ashamed of yourself, brother! You always make one blush.
Antìp. What’s the matter now? I haven’t said anything so dreadful. Another day a man may say worse things than that, and nobody cares. Why, the other day, before his Excellency the General, such a word slipped off my tongue, I was quite frightened myself; but what can a fellow do? A word isn’t a sparrow, that you can put salt on its tail. And as for what you were saying, mother, I stick to my point. My wife shall dress as fine as she likes; I don’t care if she isn’t a lady, all the same....
Stepanìda. Yes; I know, my boy, I know. When she goes out with you dressed up like that, with a train two yards long, what do you suppose she’s thinking about? Well, I’ll tell you my son, she thinks—“Here have I got to put up with a great clumsy husband with a beard, instead of having a proper sort of beau that pomades his hair and puts scent on his handkerchief!”
Antìp. Do you think she’d change me for any one else? A handsome fellow like me! (Strokes his moustache.) I say, wife, give us a kiss! (Matryòna kisses him with feigned tenderness.)
Stepanìda. Ah! my child! the enemy of man is cunning. Look at the way my poor dear husband and I lived. We were a happier couple than you are; and all the same he kept me in fear and submission, as a man should, the Lord rest his soul! However much he loved and cherished me, he always kept a little whip hanging on a nail in the bedroom, just in case of anything.
Matryòna. You’re always making mischief between me and my husband! Why can’t you let me alone?
Stepanìda. You’d best hold your tongue, my good girl!