enabled him to fall back upon reading the lives
of saints, ascetics, and others of the type which has risen superior to
its misfortunes. And at such times his spirit would become softened, his
thoughts full of gentleness, and his eyes wet with tears; he would fall
to saying his prayers, and invariably some strange coincidence would
bring an answer thereto in the shape of an unexpected measure of
assistance. That is to say, some former friend of his would remember
him, and send him a trifle in the way of money; or else some female
visitor would be moved by his story to let her impulsive, generous heart
proffer him a handsome gift; or else a suit whereof tidings had never
even reached his ears would end by being decided in his favour. And when
that happened he would reverently acknowledge the immensity of the mercy
of Providence, gratefully tender thanksgiving for the same, and betake
himself again to his irregular mode of existence.

"Somehow I feel sorry for the man," said Platon when he and Chichikov
had taken leave of their host, and left the house.

"Perhaps so, but he is a hopeless prodigal," replied the other.
"Personally I find it impossible to compassionate such fellows."

And with that the pair ceased to devote another thought to Khlobuev. In
the case of Platon, this was because he contemplated the fortunes of his
fellows with the lethargic, half-somnolent eye which he turned upon all
the rest of the world; for though the sight of distress of others would
cause his heart to contract and feel full of sympathy, the impression
thus produced never sank into the depths of his being. Accordingly,
before many minutes were over he had ceased to bestow a single thought
upon his late host. With Chichikov, however, things were different.
Whereas Platon had ceased to think of Khlobuev no more than he had
ceased to think of himself, Chichikov's mind had strayed elsewhere,
for the reason that it had become taken up with grave meditation on the
subject of the purchase just made. Suddenly finding himself no longer
a fictitious proprietor, but the owner of a real, an actually existing,
estate, he became contemplative, and his plans and ideas assumed such a
serious vein as imparted to his features an unconsciously important air.

"Patience and hard work!" he muttered to himself. "The thing will not be
difficult, for with those two requisites I have been familiar from the
days of my swaddling clothes. Yes, no novelty will they