“The latter, your Excellency—only the Generals of 1812,” replied Chichikov. Then he added beneath his breath: “Were I to be killed for it, I could not say what that may be supposed to mean.”
“Then why should he not come and see me in person?” went on his host. “Possibly I might be able to furnish him with much interesting material?”
“He is afraid to come, your Excellency.”
“Nonsense! Just because of a hasty word or two! I am not that sort of man at all. In fact, I should be very happy to call upon HIM.”
“Never would he permit that, your Excellency. He would greatly prefer to be the first to make advances.” And Chichikov added to himself: “What a stroke of luck those Generals were! Otherwise, the Lord knows where my tongue might have landed me!”
At this moment the door into the adjoining room opened, and there appeared in the doorway a girl as fair as a ray of the sun—so fair, indeed, that Chichikov stared at her in amazement. Apparently she had come to speak to her father for a moment, but had stopped short on perceiving that there was some one with him. The only fault to be found in her appearance was the fact that she was too thin and fragile-looking.
“May I introduce you to my little pet?” said the General to Chichikov. “To tell you the truth, I do not know your name.”
“That you should be unacquainted with the name of one who has never distinguished himself in the manner of which you yourself can boast is scarcely to be wondered at.” And Chichikov executed one of his sidelong, deferential bows.
“Well, I should be delighted to know it.”
“It is Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov, your Excellency.” With that went the easy bow of a military man and the agile backward movement of an india-rubber ball.