"Yes--in Moscow," replied Chichikov without interrupting his writing.

"I thought so. One CAN get good things there. Three years ago my sister
brought me a few pairs of warm shoes for my sons, and they were such
excellent articles! To this day my boys wear them. And what nice stamped
paper you have!" (she had peered into the dispatch-box, where, sure
enough, there lay a further store of the paper in question). "Would you
mind letting me have a sheet of it? I am without any at all, although I
shall soon have to be presenting a plea to the land court, and possess
not a morsel of paper to write it on."

Upon this Chichikov explained that the paper was not the sort proper
for the purpose--that it was meant for serf-indenturing, and not for
the framing of pleas. Nevertheless, to quiet her, he gave her a sheet
stamped to the value of a rouble. Next, he handed her the letter to
sign, and requested, in return, a list of her peasants. Unfortunately,
such a list had never been compiled, let alone any copies of it, and the
only way in which she knew the peasants' names was by heart. However, he
told her to dictate them. Some of the names greatly astonished our hero,
so, still more, did the surnames. Indeed, frequently, on hearing the
latter, he had to pause before writing them down. Especially did he halt
before a certain "Peter Saveliev Neuvazhai Korito." "What a string of
titles!" involuntarily he ejaculated. To the Christian name of another
serf was appended "Korovi Kirpitch," and to that of a third "Koleso
Ivan." However, at length the list was compiled, and he caught a deep
breath; which latter proceeding caused him to catch also the attractive
odour of something fried in fat.

"I beseech you to have a morsel," murmured his hostess. Chichikov looked
up, and saw that the table was spread with mushrooms, pies, and other
viands.

"Try this freshly-made pie and an egg," continued Madame.

Chichikov did so, and having eaten more than half of what she offered
him, praised the pie highly. Indeed, it was a toothsome dish, and, after
his difficulties and exertions with his hostess, it tasted even better
than it might otherwise have done.

"And also a few pancakes?" suggested Madame.

For answer Chichikov folded three together, and, having dipped them in
melted butter, consigned the lot to his mouth, and then wiped his
mouth with a napkin. Twice more was the process repeated, and then
he requested his hostess to order the brit