Here he broke off to run to the window and shout to his servant (who was holding a knife in one hand and a crust of bread and a piece of sturgeon in the other — he had contrived to filch the latter while fumbling in the britchka for something else):
“Hi, Porphyri! Bring here that puppy, you rascal!
What a puppy it is!
Unfortunately that thief of a landlord has given it nothing to eat, even though I have promised him the roan filly which, as you may remember, I swopped from Khvostirev.”
As a matter of act, Chichikov had never in his life seen either Khvostirev or the roan filly.
“Barin, do you wish for anything to eat?” inquired the landlady as she entered.
“No, nothing at all.
Ah, friend Chichikov, what times we had!
Yes, give me a glass of vodka, old woman. What sort to you keep?”
“Aniseed.”
“Then bring me a glass of it,” repeated Nozdrev.
“And one for me as well,” added the flaxen-haired man.
“At the theatre,” went on Nozdrev, “there was an actress who sang like a canary.
Kuvshinnikov, who happened to be sitting with me, said: ‘My boy, you had better go and gather that strawberry.’
As for the booths at the fair, they numbered, I should say, fifty.”
At this point he broke off to take the glass of vodka from the landlady, who bowed low in acknowledgement of his doing so.
At the same moment Porphyri — a fellow dressed like his master (that is to say, in a greasy, wadded overcoat)— entered with the puppy.
“Put the brute down here,” commanded Nozdrev, “and then fasten it up.”
Porphyri deposited the animal upon the floor; whereupon it proceeded to act after the manner of dogs.
“THERE’S a puppy for you!” cried Nozdrev, catching hold of it by the back, and lifting it up.
The puppy uttered a piteous yelp.
“I can see that you haven’t done what I told you to do,” he continued to Porphyri after an inspection of the animal’s belly. “You have quite forgotten to brush him.”
“I DID brush him,” protested Porphyri.
“Then where did these fleas come from?”
“I cannot think.
Perhaps they have leapt into his coat out of the britchka.”
“You liar! As a matter of fact, you have forgotten to brush him.
Nevertheless, look at these ears, Chichikov. Just feel them.”
“Why should I? Without doing that, I can see that he is well-bred.”
“Nevertheless, catch hold of his ears and feel them.”
To humour the fellow Chichikov did as he had requested, remarking:
“Yes, he seems likely to turn out well.”
“And feel the coldness of his nose! Just take it in your hand.”
Not wishing to offend his interlocutor, Chichikov felt the puppy’s nose, saying:
“Some day he will have an excellent scent.”
“Yes, will he not? ’Tis the right sort of muzzle for that.
I must say that I have long been wanting such a puppy.
Porphyri, take him away again.”
Porphyri lifted up the puppy, and bore it downstairs.
“Look here, Chichikov,” resumed Nozdrev. “You MUST come to my place. It lies only five versts away, and we can go there like the wind, and you can visit Sobakevitch afterwards.”
“Shall I, or shall I not, go to Nozdrev’s?” reflected Chichikov.
“Is he likely to prove any more useful than the rest?
Well, at least he is as promising, even though he has lost so much at play. But he has a head on his shoulders, and therefore I must go carefully if I am to tackle him concerning my scheme.”
With that he added aloud: “Very well, I WILL come with you, but do not let us be long, for my time is very precious.”
“That’s right, that’s right!” cried Nozdrev. “Splendid, splendid!
Let me embrace you!”
And he fell upon Chichikov’s neck.
“All three of us will go.”
“No, no,” put in the flaxen-haired man. “You must excuse me, for I must be off home.”
“Rubbish, rubbish! I am NOT going to excuse you.”