But this is not my friend Ivan Petrovitch, you would say in looking at him. Ivan Petrovitch is taller, and this is a little, sickly-looking person; the other speaks in a loud bass voice, and is never wont to smile, but this person warbles like a bird, and laughs continually. And yet, if you go near and examine him closer, you will find it is your friend Ivan Petrovitch. Aha! oho! will be your exclamation. However it is time for us to return again to our dramatis persona.
Tchichikoff, as we have already perceived, had come to the resolution of standing on no ceremony with the old lady, and, therefore, took up a cup of tea, poured some of the cherry-brandy into it, and began the following conversation with his hostess:
"You have a fine estate and village, my good lady. Pray, how many serfs do you possess?"
"Well, my dear Sir, I have about eighty souls living in yonder village," the matron answered; "but oh, misery! the times are bad, and besides, I had a bad harvest last year; may the Lord have mercy upon us!"
"However, to judge from appearances, your peasants look healthy, and their huts are in good repair. But allow me to inquire your name? Pardon me, I am so very absent—I arrived so very late at night—"
"My name is Korobotchka, I am the widow of the late Secretary of the Manor."
"I am very much obliged to you for the information. And pray, what are your Christian names?"
"Anastasia Petrovna, if you please."
"Anastasia Petrovna? a very fine name that of Anastasia Petrovna. I have an aunt, a sister of my mother's, whose name is also Anastasia Petrovna."
"And pray, what is your name?" inquired the widow of the late Secretary. "You are, no doubt, as far as I can guess, one of our district judges?"