evolence. "I
will present him," he thought to himself, "with a watch. It is a good
silver article--not one of those cheap metal affairs; and though it
has suffered some damage, he can easily get that put right. A young man
always needs to give a watch to his betrothed."

"No," he added after further thought. "I will leave him the watch in my
will, as a keepsake."

Meanwhile our hero was bowling along in high spirit. Such an unexpected
acquisition both of dead souls and of runaway serfs had come as
a windfall. Even before reaching Plushkin's village he had had a
presentiment that he would do successful business there, but not
business of such pre-eminent profitableness as had actually resulted.
As he proceeded he whistled, hummed with hand placed trumpetwise to his
mouth, and ended by bursting into a burst of melody so striking that
Selifan, after listening for a while, nodded his head and exclaimed, "My
word, but the master CAN sing!"

By the time they reached the town darkness had fallen, and changed the
character of the scene. The britchka bounded over the cobblestones, and
at length turned into the hostelry's courtyard, where the travellers
were met by Petrushka. With one hand holding back the tails of his coat
(which he never liked to see fly apart), the valet assisted his
master to alight. The waiter ran out with candle in hand and napkin on
shoulder. Whether or not Petrushka was glad to see the barin return
it is impossible to say, but at all events he exchanged a wink with
Selifan, and his ordinarily morose exterior seemed momentarily to
brighten.

"Then you have been travelling far, sir?" said the waiter, as he lit the
way upstarts.

"Yes," said Chichikov. "What has happened here in the meanwhile?"

"Nothing, sir," replied the waiter, bowing, "except that last night
there arrived a military lieutenant. He has got room number sixteen."

"A lieutenant?"

"Yes. He came from Riazan, driving three grey horses."

On entering his room, Chichikov clapped his hand to his nose, and asked
his valet why he had never had the windows opened.

"But I did have them opened," replied Petrushka. Nevertheless this was
a lie, as Chichikov well knew, though he was too tired to contest the
point. After ordering and consuming a light supper of sucking pig, he
undressed, plunged beneath the bedclothes, and sank into the profound
slumber which comes only to such fortunate folk as are troubled neither
with mosquitoes nor flea