"Yes, I must confess, I thought as much myself," added Maniloff; "just so, a great many have died since." Hereupon he turned towards Tchichikoff, and repeated again; "exactly so, a great many have died."
"But, about how many in number?" demanded again Tchichikoff.
"Yes, to be sure, how many in number? repeated Maniloff.
"Yes, your glory; but how could I fix upon the number? It is impossible to say how many, no one has counted them," said the steward again, and with increasing embarrassment.
"Just so," said Maniloff, whilst turning towards his guest; "I anticipated as much; there was a great mortality during these latter years; and I think it is difficult to say with any precision how many have died."
"You had better number the dead, my good man;" Tchichikoff addressed himself to the steward, "and make out a correct list of all, together with their family and Christian names."
"Yes, to be sure," added Maniloff adopting the same positive tone of voice as his guest: "and give their names carefully."
"It shall be done, your glory!" replied the steward, and left the room.
"But for what purpose do you want these particulars?" inquired Maniloff, after the steward had left them.
This question seemed to embarrass his guest considerably; his face flushed, his countenance betrayed uneasiness and was altogether striking in its momentary change, and difficult to be described in words. At last Maniloff was obliged to listen to one of the strangest and most extraordinary proposals to which human ears were ever yet fated to listen. "You wish to know for what purpose? The reasons are the following: I should like to purchase some serfs—" said Tchichikoff, whilst recovering gradually; but scarcely had he uttered the last word, when he had a sudden attack of his cough, and did not, of course, conclude the phrase.