"The demons are sure to scourge you, and say besides: 'that is what you deserve you wicked woman for betraying and deceiving your lawful master, yes, it is with red-hot iron rods that they will torment you!'"
"And I shall proclaim my innocence;" added the poor woman crying, "I shall invoke Heaven and declare that I did not touch or take any of your property. And here it lies upon the table. You always scold and accuse us though we are innocent!"
Pluschkin now really beheld the note-paper before him, and for a moment he stopped short, whilst chewing with his lips, then he added:
"Well, why are you so excited? what a talkative woman you are to be sure! Scarcely have I spoken a word to you, when you are ready with ten answers! Go and fetch me a light to seal my letters with. But no, stop, you are sure to lay hold of a tallow candle, grease melts: it will be a loss; bring me a pine-torch."
Mavra left the room, Pluschkin seated himself in an arm-chair and taking a pen up, he kept turning the sheet of note-paper for a considerable time in his hand, thinking at the time, could it not be possible to save the half or a portion of the paper, but at last he felt convinced that it was an impossibility; he therefore dipped his pen into the ink-stand and into a mouldy fluid, at the bottom of which there were numerous dead flies, he began to write; his letters were very much like music-notes, he was obliged to stop at each pen stroke, for his hand shook and trembled violently over the paper, and the progress of his writing and increase of lines was very slow indeed, for he could not help thinking and regretting, that much of the paper before him would have to remain unwritten upon.
And to such a degree of meanness and degradation could a well-born man degenerate! undergo such a change! But is this like truth, like reality? All approaches truth and reality, for a human being is liable to undergo incredible changes. The youth of this day would start back horrified if the portrait of his old age could be shown to him. Oh! gather on our way—as you leave your downy pillow to start and enter into harsh and hardening manhood—gather up all the tender impressions of human nature, do not leave them behind you—do not pick them up later! Harsh and frightful is such old age when looming in the future, for it indemnifies for nothing! The grave is more merciful, upon a tombstone may be written: here lies a man! but you can read nothing upon the cold, unfeeling features of pitiless age.
"Do you perhaps know any one among your friends—" said Pluschkin, whilst folding up his letter, "who might stand in want of a few run-away serfs?"
"Ah, you have even some run-away men?" demanded Tchichikoff eagerly, but composing himself again quickly.
"Yes, unfortunately, I have some. My son-in-law has been hunting after them, but he assured me, that he has lost the trace of them notwithstanding his diligence and perseverance, however, he is a military man, accustomed to do business on horseback, if he had taken the trouble to apply to the various courts and—"
"Pardon me for interrupting you, but how many are they in number?"