y!"

"None of it for me," repeated Sobakevitch as he wiped his hands on his
napkin. "I don't intend to be like a fellow named Plushkin, who owns
eight hundred souls, yet dines worse than does my shepherd."

"Who is Plushkin?" asked Chichikov.

"A miser," replied Sobakevitch. "Such a miser as never you could
imagine. Even convicts in prison live better than he does. And he
starves his servants as well."

"Really?" ejaculated Chichikov, greatly interested. "Should you, then,
say that he has lost many peasants by death?"

"Certainly. They keep dying like flies."

"Then how far from here does he reside?"

"About five versts."

"Only five versts?" exclaimed Chichikov, feeling his heart beating
joyously. "Ought one, when leaving your gates, to turn to the right or
to the left?"

"I should be sorry to tell you the way to the house of such a cur," said
Sobakevitch. "A man had far better go to hell than to Plushkin's."

"Quite so," responded Chichikov. "My only reason for asking you is
that it interests me to become acquainted with any and every sort of
locality."

To the shoulder of mutton there succeeded, in turn, cutlets (each one
larger than a plate), a turkey of about the size of a calf, eggs, rice,
pastry, and every conceivable thing which could possibly be put into a
stomach. There the meal ended. When he rose from table Chichikov felt as
though a pood's weight were inside him. In the drawing-room the company
found dessert awaiting them in the shape of pears, plums, and apples;
but since neither host nor guest could tackle these particular dainties
the hostess removed them to another room. Taking advantage of her
absence, Chichikov turned to Sobakevitch (who, prone in an armchair,
seemed, after his ponderous meal, to be capable of doing little
beyond belching and grunting--each such grunt or belch necessitating a
subsequent signing of the cross over the mouth), and intimated to him
a desire to have a little private conversation concerning a certain
matter. At this moment the hostess returned.

"Here is more dessert," she said. "Pray have a few radishes stewed in
honey."

"Later, later," replied Sobakevitch. "Do you go to your room, and Paul
Ivanovitch and I will take off our coats and have a nap."

Upon this the good lady expressed her readiness to send for feather beds
and cushions, but her husband expressed a preference for slumbering in
an armchair, and she therefore departed. When she had gone Sobake