Pluschkin while saying this, put on a pair of wretched spectacles, and began to stir about in a heap of papers. In untying various packages, he treated his guest to such a cloud of dust, that he made him sneeze. At last he produced a slip of paper, written upon on every available space. The names of the dead serfs covered it as thickly as mushrooms. There were Christian and family names of every kind and length, such as Ponomareff, Pimenoff, Semenoff, and Panteleimonoff, and even the long name of Gregory Dogeschainedogedish; in all more than a hundred-and-twenty different names.
Tchichikoff smiled with inward satisfaction at the sight of such a number. Securing this curious document, and putting it in his pocket, he made the observation to Pluschkin, that he would have to come to town in order to conclude, in a legal manner, the contract of sale of these dead serfs.
"Go to town, but how? how am I to leave my house? my servants are one and all either thieves or scoundrels, in a day they would be capable of robbing me so well, that on my return I should not be able even to find a nail to bang my coat upon."
"In that case, you have perhaps a friend in town?"
"Yes, to be sure, a friend, but to whom? All my acquaintances have died, or have forgotten me; but stop, my good Sir! I now remember one, how should I not have a friend, to be sure I have one!" exclaimed the old man suddenly. "I am on friendly terms with the President, he used to visit me often in bygone years, how should I not know him, or he me! we were like wheels of the same carriage, always together, up to any mischief! how should we not know one another? he is my best friend! would you advise me to entrust him with this business?"
"I advise you most certainly to do so," replied Tchichikoff.
"Then I will write to him, because he is a very intimate friend of mine! indeed, now I remember it, our friendship dates from our childhood, we were intimate school-fellows."
And suddenly over this wooden parchment-like face a warm flush passed, but it did not express feelings of a pleasant recollection, no, only something like a faint shadow of real feeling, an apparition similar to the unexpected appearance of a drowning man above the surface of the water, who causes a shout of joy among the crowd gathered along the shores. But unavailingly do his suddenly rejoiced brothers and sisters throw out cords and ropes to his assistance, hoping to see once more his head, or outstretched hands, trying to seize it—alas! it was his last re-appearance. All is silent, and the now silent and smooth element becomes but more ominous and terrifying. Something analogous was also visible in the expression of Pluschkin's features, after a momentary flush of sensibility, the expression of his face became but more unfeeling and repulsive.
"There was a sheet of note-paper lying on the table," he said, "but I wonder what has become of it; you have no idea how impudent my servants are!"
Hereupon he began anxiously to look about, under the table, upon the table, stirring about everything, but at last, not being able to find it, he shouted as loud as he could: