“Kindly tell ME whom I have the honour of addressing?” retorted Nozdrev as he approached the official.
“I am the Superintendent of Rural Police.”
“And what do you want?”
“I have come to fulfil a commission imposed upon me. That is to say, I have come to place you under arrest until your case shall have been decided.”
“Rubbish! What case, pray?”
“The case in which you involved yourself when, in a drunken condition, and through the instrumentality of a walking-stick, you offered grave offence to the person of Landowner Maksimov.”
“You lie! To your face I tell you that never in my life have I set eyes upon Landowner Maksimov.”
“Good sir, allow me to represent to you that I am a Government officer. Speeches like that you may address to your servants, but not to me.”
At this point Chichikov, without waiting for Nozdrev’s reply, seized his cap, slipped behind the Superintendent’s back, rushed out on to the verandah, sprang into his britchka, and ordered Selifan to drive like the wind.