Anoùch. I quite agree with you. The only thing is, she’s not quite—I am inclined to doubt whether she is acquainted with the manners of high-class society. Do you think she knows French?
Zhev. If I may take the liberty of asking, why didn’t you speak French to her yourself, and try?—very likely she knows it.
Anoùch. You think I speak French? No, I did not enjoy such educational advantages. My father was an eccentric personage, he never even thought of having me taught French. I was a child in those days; it would have been easy to teach me—a few good whippings were all that was needed, and I should have known it perfectly well.
Zhev. Well, but as you don’t know French, why do you particularly want——
Anoùch. Ah! no, no; it’s quite another matter with a woman. It’s quite necessary that she should know it; otherwise, one thing and another—(helps himself out with gestures)—nothing is as it should be.
Yaìch. (aside). Well, those that like can care about that. For my part, I shall go round the house and look at the wings from the courtyard; if everything’s all right, I’ll settle the matter this very evening. I’m not afraid of all these suitors; they’re nothing but milksops, all the lot of them. Girls don’t like that sort of men.
Zhev. I think I’ll go and have a smoke. Perhaps our way lies in the same direction. May I ask where you live?
Anoùch. At Peskì; in the Petròvski Row.
Zhev. Yes; it’s a bit out of my way; I live on the Island,[[12]] in the Eighteenth Line. But all the same I’ll walk with you.
Star. No no; they’re getting too proud for me here. Ah! you’ll remember your own folk some day, Agàfia Tikhònovna! Your servant, gentlemen. (Bows and exit. Exeunt all but Podkolyòssin and Kochkaryòv.)