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to lose your temper in this way, I should never have discussed the
matter."

"No wonder that I lose my temper! An egg too many is no great matter,
yet it may prove exceedingly annoying."

"Well, well, I will let you have the souls for fifteen roubles each.
Also, with regard to those contracts, do not forget me if at any time
you should find yourself in need of rye-meal or buckwheat or groats or
dead meat."

"No, I shall NEVER forget you, madam!" he said, wiping his forehead,
where three separate streams of perspiration were trickling down his
face. Then he asked her whether in the town she had any acquaintance
or agent whom she could empower to complete the transference of the
serfs, and to carry out whatsoever else might be necessary.

"Certainly," replied Madame Korobotchka. "The son of our archpriest,
Father Cyril, himself is a lawyer."

Upon that Chichikov begged her to accord the gentleman in question a
power of attorney, while, to save extra trouble, he himself would then
and there compose the requisite letter.

"It would be a fine thing if he were to buy up all my meal and stock
for the Government," thought Madame to herself. "I must encourage him
a little. There has been some dough standing ready since last night,
so I will go and tell Fetinia to try a few pancakes. Also, it might be
well to try him with an egg pie. We make then nicely here, and they do
not take long in the making."

So she departed to translate her thoughts into action, as well as to
supplement the pie with other products of the domestic cuisine; while,
for his part, Chichikov returned to the drawing-room where he had
spent the night, in order to procure from his dispatch-box the
necessary writing-paper. The room had now been set in order, the
sumptuous feather bed removed, and a table set before the sofa.
Depositing his dispatch-box upon the table, he heaved a gentle sigh on
becoming aware that he was so soaked with perspiration that he might
almost have been dipped in a river. Everything, from his shirt to his
socks, was dripping. "May she starve to death, the cursed old
harridan!" he ejaculated after a moment's rest. Then he opened his
dispatch-box. In passing, I may say that I feel certain that at least
SOME of my readers will be curious to know the contents and the
internal arrangements of that receptacle. Why should I not gratify
their curiosity? To begin with, the centre of the box contained a
soap-dish, with, disposed around it, six or seven compartments for
razors. Next came square partitions for a sand-box[7] and an inkstand,
as well as (scooped out in their midst) a hollow of pens, sealing-wax,
and anything else that required more room. Lastly there were all sorts
of little divisions, both with and without lids, for articles of a
smaller nature, such as visiting cards, memorial cards, theatre
tickets, and things which Chichikov had laid by as souvenirs. This
portion of the box could be taken out, and below it were both a space
for manuscripts and a secret money-box--the latter made to draw out

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