thought Chichikov to
himself. "I had better pass to the Chief of Police, which whom he DOES
seem to be friendly." Accordingly he added aloud: "For my own part, I
should give the preference to the Head of the Gendarmery. What a frank,
outspoken nature he has! And what an element of simplicity does his
expression contain!"

"He is mean to the core," remarked Sobakevitch coldly. "He will sell you
and cheat you, and then dine at your table. Yes, I know them all, and
every one of them is a swindler, and the town a nest of rascals engaged
in robbing one another. Not a man of the lot is there but would sell
Christ. Yet stay: ONE decent fellow there is--the Public Prosecutor;
though even HE, if the truth be told, is little better than a pig."

After these eulogia Chichikov saw that it would be useless to continue
running through the list of officials--more especially since suddenly he
had remembered that Sobakevitch was not at any time given to commending
his fellow man.

"Let us go to luncheon, my dear," put in Theodulia Ivanovna to her
spouse.

"Yes; pray come to table," said Sobakevitch to his guest; whereupon they
consumed the customary glass of vodka (accompanied by sundry snacks of
salted cucumber and other dainties) with which Russians, both in town
and country, preface a meal. Then they filed into the dining-room in the
wake of the hostess, who sailed on ahead like a goose swimming across a
pond. The small dining-table was found to be laid for four persons--the
fourth place being occupied by a lady or a young girl (it would have
been difficult to say which exactly) who might have been either a
relative, the housekeeper, or a casual visitor. Certain persons in the
world exist, not as personalities in themselves, but as spots or specks
on the personalities of others. Always they are to be seen sitting in
the same place, and holding their heads at exactly the same angle, so
that one comes within an ace of mistaking them for furniture, and thinks
to oneself that never since the day of their birth can they have spoken
a single word.

"My dear," said Sobakevitch, "the cabbage soup is excellent." With that
he finished his portion, and helped himself to a generous measure of
niania [25]--the dish which follows shtchi and consists of a sheep's
stomach stuffed with black porridge, brains, and other things. "What
niania this is!" he added to Chichikov. "Never would you get such stuff
in a town, where one is given the devil