it's mostly because I'm sorry for your family.

BOLSHÓV. Come, really now?

PODKHALYÚZIN. If you please, sir. Now, suppose all this ends well. Very
good, sir. You'll have something left with which to establish Olimpiáda
Samsónovna.--Well, of that there's nothing to say; let there be money,
and suitors'll be found, sir. Well, but what a sin, Lord save us! if they
object, and begin to hound you through the courts; and such a stigma falls
upon the family, and if, furthermore, they should take away the property.
Sir, the ladies'd be obliged to endure hunger and cold, and without any
care, like shelterless birdies. But Lord save them from that! What would
happen then? [_He weeps._

BOLSHÓV. What are you crying about?

PODKHALYÚZIN. Of course, Samsón Sílych, I merely say that just for
instance--talk at the right time, keep still at the wrong time; words don't
hurt. But you see, the Old Nick is powerful--he shakes the hills.

BOLSHÓV. What's to be done, my boy? Evidently such is the will of God, and
you can't oppose it.

PODKHALYÚZIN. That's just it, Samsón Sílych! But all the same, according to
my foolish way of reasoning, you should settle Olimpiáda Samsónovna in good
time upon a good man; and then she will be, at any rate, as if behind a
stone wall, sir. But the chief thing is that the man should have a soul,
so that he'll feel. As for that noble's courting Olimpiáda Samsónovna--why
he's turned tail already.