band to shave his forehead as a soldier,
and our turn hadn't come, and it is against the law, my husband being a
married man.

KHLESTAKOV. How could he do it, then?

LOCK.'S WIFE. He did it, he did it, the blackguard! May God smite him
both in this world and the next. If he has an aunt, may all harm descend
upon her. And if his father is living, may the rascal perish, may he
choke to death. Such a cheat! The son of the tailor should have been
levied. And he is a drunkard, too. But his parents gave the governor a
rich present, so he fastened on the son of the tradeswoman, Panteleyeva.
And Panteleyeva also sent his wife three pieces of linen. So then he
comes to me. "What do you want your husband for?" he says. "He isn't
any good to you any more." It's for me to know whether he is any good
or not. That's my business. The old cheat! "He's a thief," he says.
"Although he hasn't stolen anything, that doesn't matter. He is going to
steal. And he'll be recruited next year anyway." How can I do without
a husband? I am not a strong woman. The skunk! May none of his kith and
kin ever see the light of God. And if he has a mother-in-law, may she,
too,--

KHLESTAKOV. All right, all right. Well, and you?

[Addressing the Widow and leading the Locksmith's Wife to the door.]

LOCK.'S WIFE [leaving]. Don't forget, father. Be kind and gracious to
me.

WIDOW. I have come to complain against the Governor, father.

KHLESTAKOV. What is it? What for? Be brief.

WIDOW. He flogged me, father.

KHLESTAKOV. How so?

WIDOW. By mistake, my father. Our women got into a squabble in the
market, and when the police came, it was all over, and they took me and
reported me--I couldn't sit down for two days.

KHLESTAKOV. But what's to be done now?

WIDOW. There's nothing to be done, of course. But if you please, order
him to pay a fine for the mistake. I can't undo my luck. But the money
would be very useful to me now.

KHLESTAKOV. All right, all right. Go now, go. I'll see to it. [Hands
with petitions are thrust through the window.] Who else is out there?
[Goes to the window.] No, no. I don't want to, I don't want to. [Leaves
the window.] I'm sick of it, the devil take it! Don't let them in, Osip.

OSIP [calling through the window]. Go away, go away! He has no time.
Come tomorrow.

The door opens and a figure appears in a shag cloak, with unshaven
beard, swollen lip, and a bandage over his cheek. Behind him appear a
whole line of other