"Why, how is this, you are not fond of gambling?"
Tchichikoff shrugged his shoulders, and added: "just so, I am not an amateur."
"You are a precious fool!"
"I can't help that, Heaven has made me so."
"You are a regular humbug! Till now, I was under the impression that you were a reputable man in some respects, but now I plainly perceive that you have not the slightest sense of propriety and good manners. It is impossible to speak to you as one would speak to a friend. You have no candour, no straightforwardness; you are the image of Sobakevitch, you are like him, a regular sneaking fellow!"
"But why do you scold me and call me all sorts of names? Is it my fault if I don't like gambling? And if you are such a man as to value such a trash as your dead serfs are, well then, sell them to me, name your price."
"Since you are such a mean fellow, you shall not have them at all! Originally,' I intended to present them to you as a token of my friendship, gratuitously, but now you shall not have them at any price! Nay, were you even to offer me a kingdom, I would not part with them. You are a shuffler, a wretched potter! From this very moment, I won't speak another word with you. Porphir, go and tell my stable-boy not to give any oats to his horses, let them feed on dry hay."
The latter determination of Nosdrieff's, Tchichikoff was far from anticipating.
"Now I could wish I had never seen you before," added Nosdrieff.
Regardless of this altercation between them, the guest and his host nevertheless sat down and took supper together, although this time there were no wines with inexpressible names put on the table. The only bottle that passed between them was a bottle of Kahetian wine, which possessed all the peculiarities of a green and sour vinegar beverage. After a silent supper, Nosdrieff led Tchichikoff into a small adjoining room in which a bed had been prepared for him.