Dead Souls

"Right you are!" said Nozdryov. "Damn me, how I hate these slobberers!" and he added aloud: "Well, devil take you, go and sit by your wife's skirts, you foozle!"

"No, brother, don't call me a foozle," the in-law replied. "I owe her my life. She's so kind, really, so sweet, she shows me such tenderness ... it moves me to tears; she'll ask what I saw at the fair, I must tell her everything, really, she's so sweet."

"Well, go then, tell her your nonsense! Here's your cap."

"No, brother, you shouldn't talk like that about her, one might say you're offending me myself, she's so sweet."

"Well, then quickly take yourself to her."

"Yes, brother, I'm going, forgive me, I can't stay. I'd love to, but cant.

The in-law went on repeating his apologies for a good while, not noticing that he had long been sitting in his britzka, had long since gone out the gates, and had long had nothing before him but empty fields. It must be supposed that his wife did not hear many details about the fair.

"What trash!" Nozdryov said, standing before the window and watching the departing carriage. "Look at him dragging along! The outrunner's not a bad horse, I've been wanting to hook him for a long time. But it's impossible to deal with the man. A foozle, simply a foozle."

Thereupon they went to the other room. Porfiry brought candles, and Chichikov noticed that a pack of cards had appeared in his host's hands as if from nowhere.

"And now, brother," Nozdryov said, squeezing the sides of the pack with his fingers and bending it slightly, so that the wrapper cracked and popped off. "So, just to while away the time, I'll put up a bank of three hundred roubles!"

But Chichikov pretended he had not heard what it was about, and said, as if suddenly recollecting:

"Ah! so that I don't forget: I have a request to make of you."

"What is it?"

"First give me your word that you'll do it."

"But what's the request?"

"No, first give me your word!"

"All right."

"Word of honor?"

"Word of honor."

"The request is this: you have, I expect, many dead peasants who have not yet been crossed off the census list?"

"Well, what if I have?"

"Transfer them to me, to my name."

"What for?"

"Well, I just need it."

"But what for?"

"Well, I just need it. . . it's my business—in short, I need it."

"Well, you're surely up to something. Confess, what is it?"

"But what could I be up to? With such trifles there's nothing to be up to."

"But what do you need them for?"

"Oh, what a curious one! You want to finger each bit of trash, and sniff it besides."

"But why don't you want to tell me?"

"But what's the good of your knowing? Well, just like that, I've got this fancy."

"So, then: as long as you don't tell me, I won't do it!"

"Well, there, you see, that's dishonest on your part; you gave your word, and now you're backing out."

"Well, that's as you please, I won't do it until you tell me what for."

"What can I possibly tell him?" thought Chichikov, and after a moment's reflection he announced that he needed the dead souls to acquire weight in society, that he was not an owner of big estates, so that in the meantime there would be at least some wretched little souls.

"Lies, lies!" said Nozdryov, not letting him finish. "Lies, brother!"

Chichikov himself noticed that his invention was not very clever, and the pretext was rather weak.

"Well, then I'll tell you more directly," he said, correcting himself, "only please don't let on to anyone. I have a mind to get married; but you must know that the father and mother of the bride are most ambitious people. It's such a mishap, really: I'm sorry I got into it, they absolutely insist that the bridegroom own not less than three hundred souls, and since I'm lacking almost as many as a hundred and fifty souls ..."

"No, lies! lies!" Nozdryov cried again.

"No, this time," said Chichikov, "I did not lie even that much," and with his thumb he indicated the tiniest part of his little finger.

"I'll bet my head you're lying!"

"Now, that is an insult! What indeed do you take me for! Why am I so sure to be lying?"

"As if you didn't know: you're a great crook, allow me to tell you that in all friendliness. If I were your superior, I'd hang you from the nearest tree."

Chichikov was offended by this remark. Any expression the least bit crude or offensive to propriety was disagreeable to him. He even did not like on any occasion to allow himself to be treated with familiarity, excepting only when the person was of very high rank. And therefore he was now thoroughly insulted.

"By God, I'd hang you," Nozdryov repeated, "I tell it to you openly, not to insult you, but simply as a friend."

"There are limits to everything," Chichikov said with dignity. "If you wish to flaunt such talk, go to the barracks," and then he appended: "If you don't want to give them, sell them."

"Sell them! Don't I know you're a scoundrel and are not going to give me much for them?"

"Eh, and you're a good one, too! Look at you! What, are they made of diamonds or something?"

"Well, there it is. I knew you all along."