Leoníd Fédorovich. I can't, I can't by any means. Here is your paper. I can't sign it.
Third Peasant. Father, pity us, take mercy on us!
Second Peasant. Why do you do so? This is an offence.
Leoníd Fédorovich. There is no offence meant, friends. I told you then, in the summer, "If you want to, all right!" You did not want to, and now I cannot.
Third Peasant. Father, have mercy on us! How are we to live? The land is small: there is not enough room to drive out a cow, nay, a chick, let me say. (Leoníd Fédorovich walks away and stops in the door.)
Anna Pávlovna (tightly laced, wearing a hat). So shall I take them?
Doctor. Take them if the symptoms are repeated. Above everything else, conduct yourself properly. How can you expect thick syrup to pass through a capillary tube, especially if you compress that tube? Impossible! Just so it is with the biliary ducts. This is all very simple.
Anna Pávlovna. Well, all right, all right.
Doctor. You say it is all right, and go on as of old. Madam, you can't do it, you can't. Well, goodbye!
Anna Pávlovna. Not good-bye, but au revoir. I shall be waiting for you in the evening,—without you I sha'n't risk it.
