e pair
inquired after one another's health. It seemed that both had lately
had a touch of that pain under the waistband which comes of a sedentary
life. Also, it seemed that the President had just been conversing with
Sobakevitch on the subject of sales of souls, since he now proceeded
to congratulate Chichikov on the same--a proceeding which rather
embarrassed our hero, seeing that Manilov and Sobakevitch, two of
the vendors, and persons with whom he had bargained in the strictest
privacy, were now confronting one another direct. However, Chichikov
duly thanked the President, and then, turning to Sobakevitch, inquired
after HIS health.

"Thank God, I have nothing to complain of," replied Sobakevitch: which
was true enough, seeing that a piece of iron would have caught cold and
taken to sneezing sooner than would that uncouthly fashioned landowner.

"Ah, yes; you have always had good health, have you not?" put in the
President. "Your late father was equally strong."

"Yes, he even went out bear hunting alone," replied Sobakevitch.

"I should think that you too could worst a bear if you were to try a
tussle with him," rejoined the President.

"Oh no," said Sobakevitch. "My father was a stronger man than I am."
Then with a sigh the speaker added: "But nowadays there are no such men
as he. What is even a life like mine worth?"

"Then you do not have a comfortable time of it?" exclaimed the
President.

"No; far from it," rejoined Sobakevitch, shaking his head. "Judge for
yourself, Ivan Grigorievitch. I am fifty years old, yet never in my life
had been ill, except for an occasional carbuncle or boil. That is not a
good sign. Sooner or later I shall have to pay for it." And he relapsed
into melancholy.

"Just listen to the fellow!" was Chichikov's and the President's joint
inward comment. "What on earth has HE to complain of?"

"I have a letter for you, Ivan Grigorievitch," went on Chichikov aloud
as he produced from his pocket Plushkin's epistle.

"From whom?" inquired the President. Having broken the seal, he
exclaimed: "Why, it is from Plushkin! To think that HE is still alive!
What a strange world it is! He used to be such a nice fellow, and now--"

"And now he is a cur," concluded Sobakevitch, "as well as a miser who
starves his serfs to death."

"Allow me a moment," said the President. Then he read the letter
through. When he had finished he added: "Yes, I am quite ready to act
as Plushkin's attorney. Whe