Koch. (to her). There are plenty of them, but they’re precious draggletailed.
Fèkla (softly). I doubt they’ll fly better than yours, for all he’s so grand. ’Tisn’t fine feathers make fine birds.
Koch. (softly). Yes, every crow thinks her own children the fairest. (Aloud.) What’s she doing now? I suppose that door leads to her bedroom? (Approaches door.)
Fèkla. For shame! I tell you she’s dressing.
Koch. Well, dear me! there’s no harm in that! I’ll only just look in—nothing more. (Peeps through keyhole.)
Zhev. Permit me to satisfy my curiosity too!
Yaìch. Let me have one little peep.
Koch. (continuing to look). There’s nothing to be seen, gentlemen; there’s something white, but I can’t make out whether it’s a woman or a pillow. (They all crowd round door and try to peep through keyhole.)
Koch. There’s ... some one coming! (All start back. Enter Arìna Pantelèymovna and Agàfia Tikhònovna. All bow.)
Arìna. To what are we indebted for the honour of this visit?