“But how much is it?” asked Plushkin eagerly, and with his hands trembling like quicksilver.
“Twenty-five kopecks per soul.”
“What? In ready money?”
“Yes—in money down.”
“Nevertheless, consider my poverty, dear friend, and make it FORTY kopecks per soul.”
“Venerable sir, would that I could pay you not merely forty kopecks, but five hundred roubles. I should be only too delighted if that were possible, since I perceive that you, an aged and respected gentleman, are suffering for your own goodness of heart.”
“By God, that is true, that is true.” Plushkin hung his head, and wagged it feebly from side to side. “Yes, all that I have done I have done purely out of kindness.”
“See how instantaneously I have divined your nature! By now it will have become clear to you why it is impossible for me to pay you five hundred roubles per runaway soul: for by now you will have gathered the fact that I am not sufficiently rich. Nevertheless, I am ready to add another five kopecks, and so to make it that each runaway serf shall cost me, in all, thirty kopecks.”
“As you please, dear sir. Yet stretch another point, and throw in another two kopecks.”
“Pardon me, but I cannot. How many runaway serfs did you say that you possess? Seventy?”