Koch. Now then, my beauty, stand up to the scratch!
Fèkla. I can’t make out a word you say when you deafen me like that.
Yaìch. The house is just built of stucco, you old hag, you! And you told me lies! It’s nothing but garrets, and the very devil knows what.
Fèkla. I don’t know; I didn’t build it. I suppose if they built it with stucco it’s because they liked stucco.
Yaìch. And it’s all mortgaged too, is it? May the devils eat you up, you damned old hag! (Stamps his foot.)
Fèkla. Oh! for shame! using such words! Anybody else would say “Thank you” for all the trouble I’ve taken.
Anoùch. Ah! Fèkla Ivànovna! and you deceived me too; you told me she knew French!
Fèkla. So she does, dear heart, so she does! And German; and all that outlandish gibberish. She can talk all the ways you like.
Anoùch. No, no; I’m afraid she talks nothing but Russian.
Fèkla. And what’s the harm of that? Of course she talks Russian; because Russian’s easier to understand. And if she could do all that heathen jabber, it would be the worse for you, because you wouldn’t be able to understand a word. What have you got against anybody talking good, plain Russian? It’s the proper way to talk; all the saints talked Russian.