"True enough, you have always enjoyed an excellent state of health," the President observed, "and I remember your late father, was as strong and healthy a man as yourself."
"Yes, he was in the habit of going bearhunting all by himself," answered Sobakevitch.
"However, I am of opinion," said the President again, "that you could master a bear as well, if you liked to encounter one."
"No, I could not," Sobakevitch answered; "my late father was much stronger than I am;" and, after a deep sigh, he continued: "No, the men of our present day are not what they used to be formerly. Take me even for an example; what is my life and strength? I have just sufficient energy to bear my life."
"Why, what makes you complain of your life?" the President inquired again.
"It is not good or satisfactory!" exclaimed Sobakevitch, whilst shaking his head slowly. "Just judge yourself, Ivan Gregorievitch: I am at the beginning of my third score, and have not once suffered the slightest complaint or indisposition, not even from a cold. Now you will agree with me that this cannot be for the better. Some fine day will dawn when I shall have, no doubt, to pay dearly for this, my present state of health and life."
Hereupon Sobakevitch relapsed into what seemed a state of melancholy or hypochondria.
"What a strange fancy, to be sure," the President and Tchichikoff thought at the same time, "to be brooding on such a subject."
"I have a letter for you my dear President," said Tchichikoff, producing Pluschkin's letter, with the evident intention of changing the subject of their conversation.
"And pray from whom?" the President demanded, as he was breaking the seal; and, having done so, he exclaimed: "Ah! is it possible, from Pluschkin. He is still a wanderer on the surface of this world. What a strange fate, that man's is; for I must tell you, gentlemen, that he was one of the most accomplished, and wealthiest men I ever happened to know! and now—"