_Silence_] Here's
all there is to it; a man lives, and lives, and all at once he dies and he
turns to dust. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord!

[_He yawns and looks into the corners._

SCENE II

_AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA comes in with LIPOCHKA, who is very much dressed
up._

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. Get along, get along, my darling; don't catch
yourself on the sides of the doorway. Just look, Samson Silych, my dear
lord and master, and admire how I've rigged up our daughter! Phew! go
away! What a peony-rose she is now! [_To her_] Ah, you little angel, you
princess, you little cherub, you! [_To him_] Well, Samson Silych, isn't it
all right? Only she ought to ride in a six-horse carriage.

BOLSHOV. She'll go in a two-horse carriage--she's no highflying
proprietress.

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. To be sure, she's no general's daughter, but, all
the same, she's a beauty! Well, pet the child a little; what are you
growling like a bear for?

BOLSHOV. Well, how do you want me to pet her? Shall I lick her hands, or
bow down to her feet? Fine circus, I must say! I've seen something more
elegant than that.

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. But what have you seen? No matter what; but this is
your daughter, your own child, you man of stone!

BOLSHOV. What if she is my daughter? Thank God she has shoes, dresses, and
is well fed--what more does she want?

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. What more! Look here, Samson Silych, have you gone
out of your head? Well fed! What if she is well fed! According to the
Christian law we should feed everybody; people look after strangers, to say
nothing of their own folks. Why, it's a sin to say that, when people can
hear you. Anyhow, she's your own child!

BOLSHOV. I know she's my own child--but what more does she want? What
are you telling me all these yarns for? You don't have to put her in a
picture-frame! I know I'm her father.

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. Then, my dear, if you're her father, then don't act
like a stepfather! It's high time, it seems to me, that you came to your
senses. You'll soon have to part with her, and you don't grind out one
kind word; you ought, for her good, to give her a bit of good advice. You
haven't a single fatherly way about you!

BOLSHOV. No, and what a pity; must be God made me that way.

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. God made you that way! What's the matter with you?
It seems to me God made her, too, didn't he? She's not an animal, Lord
forgive me for speaki