ry birds,
some hussies will bewitch an old man and rule over him, my doves,
rule over him and turn his head; and when they've saved up money
and lottery tickets enough, they will bewitch him to his death."

Varvarushka's only response to these hints was to heave a sigh and
look towards the ikons. There was an expression of Christian meekness
on her countenance.

"I know a maid like that, my bitterest enemy," Stinging Beetle went
on, looking round at every one in triumph; "she is always sighing,
too, and looking at the ikons, the she-devil. When she used to rule
in a certain old man's house, if one went to her she would give one
a crust, and bid one bow down to the ikons while she would sing:
'In conception Thou dost abide a Virgin . . . !' On holidays she
will give one a bite, and on working days she will reproach one for
it. But nowadays I will make merry over her! I will make as merry
as I please, my jewel."

Varvarushka glanced at the ikons again and crossed herself.

"But no one will have me, Spiridonovna," said Anna Akimovna to
change the conversation. "What's to be done?"

"It's your own fault. You keep waiting for highly educated gentlemen,
but you ought to marry one of your own sort, a merchant."

"We don't want a merchant," said Auntie, all in a flutter. "Queen
of Heaven, preserve us! A gentleman will spend your money, but then
he will be kind to you, you poor little fool. But a merchant will
be so strict that you won't feel at home in your own house. You'll
be wanting to fondle him and he will be counting his money, and
when you sit down to meals with him, he'll grudge you every mouthful,
though it's your own, the lout! . . . Marry a gentleman."

They all talked at once, loudly interrupting one another, and Auntie
tapped on the table with the nutcrackers and said, flushed and
angry:

"We won't have a merchant; we won't have one! If you choose a
merchant I shall go to an almshouse."

"Sh . . . Sh! . . . Hush!" cried Stinging Beetle; when all were
silent she screwed up one eye and said: "Do you know what, Annushka,
my birdie . . . ? There is no need for you to get married really
like every one else. You're rich and free, you are your own mistress;
but yet, my child, it doesn't seem the right thing for you to be
an old maid. I'll find you, you know, some trumpery and simple-witted
man. You'll marry him for appearances and then have your fling,
bonny lass! You can hand him five thousand or ten maybe, a