"Would your Excellency believe," continued Nosdrieff, "that when he said to me: 'sell me your dead serfs,' I nearly burst with laughter. I arrive here, and am told that he has been purchasing serfs to the amount of three millions worth, with the purpose of emigrating with them into the Government of Kherson; but how is he to settle them over? he has been bargaining with me for my dead serfs. Listen, Tchichikoff, I tell you candidly, and I proclaim it even in the presence of all, you are the devil's own favourite, his Excellency is present; and what do you say, Procurator?"
But the Imperial Procurator, and Tchichikoff, and the Governor of Smolensk himself, became so very much confused, that they did not know where to seek for countenance and what to reply, meanwhile; Nosdrieff, without paying the least attention to them, continued to address himself to our hero in a half-inebriated state and most insulting language.
"Ah, my fine fellow, you, you—I shall not leave you, before you have told me for what purposes you have purchased these dead serfs. Listen to me, Tchichikoff, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, for you know but too well that you have not a better and a more candid friend than myself. His Excellency is even present, and what do you say, Procurator? Your Excellency would not believe how much attached we are to each other, if you were to say, now, here you are both, and ask me the question: 'Nosdrieff, upon your honour, who is dearer to you—your own father, or Tchichikoff?' I would answer unhesitatingly, 'Tchichikoff;' by Heavens I would. Allow me, my darling friend, to impress a kiss upon you. I hope your Excellency will allow me to embrace him. Yes, my dear Tchichikoff, pray do not resist me, allow me to impress but one friendly kiss upon your tender snow-white cheek!"
Nosdrieff was so harshly repulsed with his intended kiss, that he nearly rolled to the ground. Everyone stepped back, and nobody would listen to him any more; nevertheless, the words he had spoken about the purchase of dead serfs were uttered in so loud a tone by him, that every person present, even those in the farthest corners of the room had heard them, and their attention was awakened.
This news seemed to be so very strange, that all present remained as if rivetted to the spot, and kept looking at each other for some moments with a peculiarly statue-like, stupidly curious countenance. Tchichikoff observed that several ladies exchanged glances full of a malicious expression, and in the faces of several of them he thought he perceived undeniable signs of insinuation which considerably increased his embarrassment.
It was well known to every one that Nosdrieff was a merciless story-teller, and that it was nothing unusual with him to advance the greatest absurdities; but a mortal—it is really difficult to define the composition of a mortal—whatever the news may be, provided it is news, he is sure to communicate it immediately to some other mortal, and if it should be only for the sake of adding, "look ye, what a falsehood they are speaking about!" and the other mortal inclines with gratification his ear to listen to it, although he will observe after having heard it, "Yes, really, it is a shameless falsehood, and not worth the least credence;" but immediately after he will hasten to meet a third mortal, to tell everything about it, and exclaim together with a noble indignation, "what a mean falsehood."
And such news soon makes the round of the town; and all the mortals, however many there might be living in it, are sure to discuss on it to satiety, and then acknowledge that it was really too base a falsehood and not worth attention, nor the trouble of speaking about any more.
[CHAPTER XVI.]
This apparently absurd occurrence seemed nevertheless to annoy our hero considerably. However stupid the words of a fool might be, yet sometimes they are powerful, enough to disconcert a wise man. He began to feel uncomfortable and ill-at-ease, like a man who might have accidentally stepped with a pair of patent leather boots into a neglected London sewer. In a word, he felt very uncomfortable. He tried not to think of it any more, attempted to cheer himself up again. In order to distract himself he sat down to play a game of whist; nevertheless, all went like a wheel out of repair. He played twice the wrong colour, and forgetting the rule that you don't cut the third time, but leave the chance to your partner, he did so to the great annoyance of his vis-à-vis.