ve I heard of such a
thing."

Upon this Chichikov lost all patience, upset his chair, and bid her go
to the devil; of which personage even the mere mention terrified her
extremely.

"Do not speak of him, I beg of you!" she cried, turning pale. "May God,
rather, bless him! Last night was the third night that he has appeared
to me in a dream. You see, after saying my prayers, I bethought me
of telling my fortune by the cards; and God must have sent him as a
punishment. He looked so horrible, and had horns longer than a bull's!"

"I wonder you don't see SCORES of devils in your dreams! Merely out of
Christian charity he had come to you to say, 'I perceive a poor widow
going to rack and ruin, and likely soon to stand in danger of want.'
Well, go to rack and ruin--yes, you and all your village together!"

"The insults!" exclaimed the old woman, glancing at her visitor in
terror.

"I should think so!" continued Chichikov. "Indeed, I cannot find words
to describe you. To say no more about it, you are like a dog in a
manger. You don't want to eat the hay yourself, yet you won't let
anyone else touch it. All that I am seeking to do is to purchase
certain domestic products of yours, for the reason that I have certain
Government contracts to fulfil." This last he added in passing, and
without any ulterior motive, save that it came to him as a happy
thought. Nevertheless the mention of Government contracts exercised a
powerful influence upon Nastasia Petrovna, and she hastened to say in a
tone that was almost supplicatory:

"Why should you be so angry with me? Had I known that you were going to
lose your temper in this way, I should never have discussed the matter."

"No wonder that I lose my temper! An egg too many is no great matter,
yet it may prove exceedingly annoying."

"Well, well, I will let you have the souls for fifteen roubles each.
Also, with regard to those contracts, do not forget me if at any time
you should find yourself in need of rye-meal or buckwheat or groats or
dead meat."

"No, I shall NEVER forget you, madam!" he said, wiping his forehead,
where three separate streams of perspiration were trickling down his
face. Then he asked her whether in the town she had any acquaintance or
agent whom she could empower to complete the transference of the serfs,
and to carry out whatsoever else might be necessary.

"Certainly," replied Madame Korobotchka. "The son of our archpriest,
Father Cyril, himself is a