'll do for them--they ran things in their day,
now it's our turn.

LIPOCHKA. Just look here, Lazar Elizarych, we shall live by ourselves at
our house, and they by themselves at their house. We'll do everything
fashionably, and they, just as they please.

PODKHALYUZIN. That's the idea, ma'am.

LIPOCHKA. Well, call papa now.

[_She rises and prinks before the mirror._

PODKHALYUZIN. Papa! Papa! Sir! Mamma!

SCENE VI

_The same,_ BOLSHOV, _and_ AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA

PODKHALYUZIN. [_Goes to meet_ SAMSON SILYCH _and throws his arms about him
in an embrace_] Olimpiada Samsonovna has agreed, sir!

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. I'm coming, my dears, I'm coming!

BOLSHOV. Well, that's talking! Just the thing! I know what I'm doing; it's
not for you to teach me.

PODKHALYUZIN. [To AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA] Mamma, ma'am! Let me kiss your
hand!

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. Kiss away, my dear; they're both clean. Ah, you
blessed child, has it been long since you decided? Ah? Good heavens! What's
this? I absolutely didn't know how to decide this matter. Oh, my own little
darling, you!

LIPOCHKA. Mamma, I positively didn't know that Lazar Elizarych was such a
well-educated gentleman! But now I see at once that he's infinitely more
respectful than the others.

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. Well, well, well, you little goose! As if your
father would wish you any harm! Ah, mamma's little dove! What a little
story, eh? Oh, my holy saints! What in the world is this? Fominishna!
Fominishna!

FOMINISHNA. Coming, coming, my dear, coming! [_She comes in._

BOLSHOV. Stop, you gabbler! Now you two just sit down side by side, and
we'll have a look at you. Fominishna, bring up a little bottle of fizz.

PODKHALYUZIN _and_ LIPOCHKA _sit down._

FOMINISHNA. Right away, my dear, right away! [_She goes out._]

SCENE VII

_The same,_ USTINYA NAUMOVNA, _and_ RISPOLOZHENSKY

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. Congratulate the bride and groom to be, Ustinya
Naumovna! God has brought us to a ripe old age; we have lived to see
happiness!

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. What have I got to congratulate you with, my jewels? My
mouth's too dry to sing your praises.

BOLSHOV. Well, now, we'll wet your whistle.

SCENE VIII

_The same_, FOMINISHNA, _and_ TISHKA, _who is bringing wine on a tray_.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. Aha! here's a matter of a different sort. Well, God grant
you live long, keep young, grow fat, and be rich! _[She drinks]_ It's
bitter, my jewels!