USTINYA NAUMOVNA. How much have you, all-in-all, my jewel?

OLIMPIADA SAMSONOVNA. Here, count: my wedding-dress of blond lace over
a satin slip; and three velvets--that makes four; two gauze and a
crape embroidered with gold--that's seven; three satin, and three
grosgrain--that's thirteen; gros de Naples and gros d'Afrique,
seven--that's twenty; three marceline, two mousseline de ligne, two Chine
royale--how many's that?--three and four's seven, and twenty--twenty-seven;
four crape Rachel--that's thirty-one. Then there are muslins, bouffe
mousseline and calico, about twenty, and then waists and morning
jackets--about nine or ten. And then I've just had one made of Persian
stuff.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. Lord help you, what heaps you've got! But you go and pick
out for me the largest of the gros d'Afrique ones.

OLIMPIADA SAMSONOVNA. I won't give you a gros d'Afrique. I have only three
myself; besides, it wouldn't suit your figure: now, if you want to, you can
take a crape Rachel.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. What in time do I want with a tripe Rachel. Evidently
there's nothing to be done with you; I'll be satisfied with a satin one,
and let it go at that.

OLIMPIADA SAMSONOVNA. Well, and the satin, too--it's not quite the thing,
cut ballroom style, very low--you understand? But I'll look up a crape
Rachel jacket; we'll let out the tucks, and it'll fit you like the paper on
the wall.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. Well, bring on your tripe Rachel! You win, my ruby; go
open the clothes closet.

OLIMPIADA SAMSONOVNA. Right away; wait just a minute.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. I'll wait, my jewel, I'll wait. Besides, I have to have
a little talk with your husband. [OLIMPIADA SAMSONOVNA _goes out_] What's
this, my jewel, have you entirely forgotten about your promise?

PODKHALYUZIN. How could I forget, ma'am? I remember. [_He takes out his
pocketbook and gives her a note._

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. Why, what's this, my diamond?

PODKHALYUZIN. One hundred rubles, ma'am!

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. Only one hundred? Why, you promised me fifteen hundred!

PODKHALYUZIN. Wha--at, ma'am?

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. You promised me fifteen hundred!

PODKHALYUZIN. Ain't that a bit steep? Won't you be living too high?

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. What's this, you barnyard cockerel; are you trying to
joke with me, man? I'm a mighty cocky lady myself!

PODKHALYUZIN. But why should I give you money? I'd do it if there were any
occasion for it.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. Whether for something