"No, is it really so many?"
"My good Sir, I have no interest to hide the truth."
"Allow me to ask you one more question. I suppose you estimate the number of your dead serfs to be eighty, since you handed in your last census?"
"If that was the case, I should thank heaven for not having lost more," said Pluschkin, "no, my good Sir, since I sent my last census to government, and paid my capitation tax, I have lost more than one hundred and twenty serfs!"
"Really, one hundred and twenty peasants!" exclaimed again Tchichikoff loudly, and even opened his mouth more than usual, in consequence of his astonishment.
"Good Sir, I am too old to tell a falsehood. I am fast advancing to my fourth score," said Pluschkin. He seemed even a little offended at the stranger's apparently joyful exclamation.
Tchichikoff also observed that he had gone too far in not observing due compassion with that which another person considers a grievous loss; and, therefore, after heaving a deep sigh, he added that he felt the greatest commiseration for him.
"'Tis all very fine talking about commiseration, but with all that you cannot put it in your pocket," replied Pluschkin. "I may quote as an example a certain colonel, who lives on an estate next to mine, and who has come heaven knows wherefrom! he says that he is a relation of mine; calls me his uncle, his dear grand uncle! and even kisses my hands; but when he begins to speak of his commiseration, he raises such a howling, that I do not know how to save my ears. He has a face all on fire; and with all that appearance pretends to like meagre fare and buck-wheat grits. No doubt that young fellow spent all his money when he served in the army, or some ballet-girl girl has cheated him out of it; and that I must suppose makes him now so full of commiseration!"
Tchichikoff endeavoured to explain to the old man, that his commiseration was quite of a different nature from that of the colonel, and that he was ready to prove it, not with empty words, but with tangible facts; and without any further arguments, he proceeded to the business at once, and informed the old miser of his readiness to undertake the payment of the capitation tax for all such of his peasants as had died since the last census, victims of a contagious fever.
This proposal seemed perfectly to bewilder Pluschkin. He opened his eyes wildly, looked for a long time steadfastly into the face of the speaker, and at last put the following question to him: