Chichikov reflected that he had indeed fallen into an aristocratic wilderness!
“At all events, is the town far away?” he inquired.
“About sixty versts. How sorry I am that I have nothing for you to eat! Should you care to drink some tea?”
“I thank you, good mother, but I require nothing beyond a bed.”
“Well, after such a journey you must indeed be needing rest, so you shall lie upon this sofa. Fetinia, bring a quilt and some pillows and sheets. What weather God has sent us! And what dreadful thunder! Ever since sunset I have had a candle burning before the ikon in my bedroom. My God! Why, your back and sides are as muddy as a boar’s! However have you managed to get into such a state?”
“That I am nothing worse than muddy is indeed fortunate, since, but for the Almighty, I should have had my ribs broken.”
“Dear, dear! To think of all that you must have been through. Had I not better wipe your back?”
“I thank you, I thank you, but you need not trouble. Merely be so good as to tell your maid to dry my clothes.”
“Do you hear that, Fetinia?” said the hostess, turning to a woman who was engaged in dragging in a feather bed and deluging the room with feathers. “Take this coat and this vest, and, after drying them before the fire—just as we used to do for your late master—give them a good rub, and fold them up neatly.”
“Very well, mistress,” said Fetinia, spreading some sheets over the bed, and arranging the pillows.