ere, and at the dead of night, too!

"But, sir, I have never in my life sold dead folk--only living ones.
Three years ago I transferred two wenches to Protopopov for a hundred
roubles apiece, and he thanked me kindly, for they turned out splendid
workers--able to make napkins or anything else.

"Yes, but with the living we have nothing to do, damn it! I am asking
you only about DEAD folk."

"Yes, yes, of course. But at first sight I felt afraid lest I should be
incurring a loss--lest you should be wishing to outwit me, good sir.
You see, the dead souls are worth rather more than you have offered for
them."

"See here, madam. (What a woman it is!) HOW could they be worth more?
Think for yourself. They are so much loss to you--so much loss, do you
understand? Take any worthless, rubbishy article you like--a piece of
old rag, for example. That rag will yet fetch its price, for it can be
bought for paper-making. But these dead souls are good for NOTHING AT
ALL. Can you name anything that they ARE good for?"

"True, true--they ARE good for nothing. But what troubles me is the fact
that they are dead."

"What a blockhead of a creature!" said Chichikov to himself, for he was
beginning to lose patience. "Bless her heart, I may as well be going.
She has thrown me into a perfect sweat, the cursed old shrew!"

He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the perspiration from
his brow. Yet he need not have flown into such a passion. More than one
respected statesman reveals himself, when confronted with a business
matter, to be just such another as Madam Korobotchka, in that, once he
has got an idea into his head, there is no getting it out of him--you
may ply him with daylight-clear arguments, yet they will rebound
from his brain as an india-rubber ball rebounds from a flagstone.
Nevertheless, wiping away the perspiration, Chichikov resolved to try
whether he could not bring her back to the road by another path.

"Madam," he said, "either you are declining to understand what I say or
you are talking for the mere sake of talking. If I hand you over some
money--fifteen roubles for each soul, do you understand?--it is MONEY,
not something which can be picked up haphazard on the street. For
instance, tell me how much you sold your honey for?"

"For twelve roubles per pood."

"Ah! Then by those words, madam, you have laid a trifling sin upon your
soul; for you did NOT sell the honey for twelve roubles."

"By the Lord