"Don't you believe it!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, whilst taking his seat in the britchka. "He has charged me two roubles and a half for each of his dead serfs! the man is the devil's own fist!"
When the britchka had left the court-yard of the house, Tchichikoff turned round to cast a last glance around him, and in looking back, he saw that Sobakevitch still stood upon the door-step of his house, and, as it seemed, was looking out to see what turning his guest was about to take.
"The fist, he is still on the same spot," murmured Tchichikoff between his teeth, and ordered Selifan, who had just turned in the direction of the village, to drive his carriage in such a manner that they should not be seen from the gentleman's house.
He intended calling at Pluschkin's, whose serfs, according to the words of Sobakevitch were dying like flies, but he did not wish that Sobakevitch should know about it. When the britchka had passed the last house in the village, he hailed the first peasant whom he happened to see, and who was carrying a large log of wood upon his shoulders, like an indefatigable ant towards his dwelling, and addressed him thus:
"Halloa, my bearded man! how can I drive to Pluschkin's estate, without passing your master's house?"
The mouzhik seemed 'obviously embarrassed at the question.
"Well, don't you know?"
"No, your glory, I don't."
"Eh, what a fellow you are! And with all that you wear grey hair and beard! don't you know the miser Pluschkin, who has the reputation of starving his peasants?"
"Ah, you mean the ragged one!" exclaimed the peasant. He then added another stronger surname, but as it is an expression not used in society, we will omit it, though it was a strong and harmonizing word with the first surname of the miser. It might be easily imagined that the second surname must have been a very pointed one indeed, for although the peasant had passed on, and the britchka had been long out of sight from the village, Tchichikoff was still smiling at the word whilst sitting in his britchka.