Agàfia. But ... but it sounds ... so rude.
Koch. Well, but you’ll never see them again, so what does it matter?
Agàfia. Even so it doesn’t seem nice; ... they’ll be offended.
Koch. What in the world does it matter if they are? If they could do you any harm that would be another thing; but the worst that can happen is for one of them to spit in your face—that’s all!
Agàfia. There! you see!
Koch. Well, what harm? Why, some people are spat at over and over again! There’s a man I know—such a handsome, fresh-coloured fellow—he was always coaxing and teasing his director to raise his salary, till at last the director lost all patience, and turned round and spat in his face. “There’s your salary!” he said; “let me alone, you demon!” But for all that he raised the salary, and the man was none the worse for having been spat at. What’s there to mind in that? It would be another matter if you hadn’t got a handkerchief near, but you have one in your pocket—you’ve nothing to do but to take it out and dry your face. (Door-bell rings.) There’s some one at the door—one of them, I expect. I shouldn’t care to meet them just now. Isn’t there another way out?
Agàfia. Oh, yes, down the back stairs. But, indeed, I am trembling all over!
Koch. Only keep your presence of mind; everything will be all right. Good-bye! (Aside.) I’ll run and fetch Podkolyòssin. (Exit. Enter Yaìchnitza.)
Yaìch. I purposely came rather early, madam, in order to find you alone and talk with you at leisure. As regards my position, madam, you are, I presume, acquainted with it: I serve as collegiate assessor, I enjoy the good-will of the authorities, and my subordinates are obedient ... only one thing is wanting—a partner to share my life.
Agàfia. Y-yes....