kept
by a Jew, with a vodka-barrel by my head. At last I get here, seventy
versts from home, and hope to get something, and I am received by you
with a "state of mind"! How shouldn't I get angry.

POPOVA. I thought I distinctly said my steward will pay you when he
returns from town.

SMIRNOV. I didn't come to your steward, but to you! What the devil,
excuse my saying so, have I to do with your steward!

POPOVA. Excuse me, sir, I am not accustomed to listen to such
expressions or to such a tone of voice. I want to hear no more. [Makes a
rapid exit.]

SMIRNOV. Well, there! "A state of mind."... "Husband died seven months
ago!" Must I pay the interest, or mustn't I? I ask you: Must I pay,
or must I not? Suppose your husband is dead, and you've got a state
of mind, and nonsense of that sort.... And your steward's gone away
somewhere, devil take him, what do you want me to do? Do you think I can
fly away from my creditors in a balloon, or what? Or do you expect me
to go and run my head into a brick wall? I go to Grusdev and he isn't at
home, Yaroshevitch has hidden himself, I had a violent row with Kuritsin
and nearly threw him out of the window, Mazugo has something the matter
with his bowels, and this woman has "a state of mind." Not one of the
swine wants to pay me! Just because I'm too gentle with them, because
I'm a rag, just weak wax in their hands! I'm much too gentle with them!
Well, just you wait! You'll find out what I'm like! I shan't let you
play about with me, confound it! I shall jolly well stay here until she
pays! Brr!... How angry I am to-day, how angry I am! All my inside is
quivering with anger, and I can't even breathe.... Foo, my word, I even
feel sick! [Yells] Waiter!

[Enter LUKA.]

LUKA. What is it?

SMIRNOV. Get me some kvass or water! [Exit LUKA] What a way to reason! A
man is in desperate need of his money, and she won't pay it because,
you see, she is not disposed to attend to money matters!... That's real
silly feminine logic. That's why I never did like, and don't like now,
to have to talk to women. I'd rather sit on a barrel of gunpowder than
talk to a woman. Brr!... I feel quite chilly--and it's all on account of
that little bit of fluff! I can't even see one of these poetic creatures
from a distance without breaking out into a cold sweat out of sheer
anger. I can't look at them. [Enter LUKA with water.]

LUKA. Madam is ill and will see nobody.

SMIRNOV. Get out! [Exit LUKA] Ill an