doors three rooms away to leap from his bed and exclaim with distended eyes, "Hullo! Something has upset him!"
"What is there to laugh at?" asked Chichikov, a trifle nettled; but Nozdrev laughed more unrestrainedly than ever, ejaculating: "Oh, spare us all! The thing is so amusing that I shall die of it!"
"I say that there is nothing to laugh at," repeated Chichikov. "It is in fulfilment of a promise that I am on my way to Sobakevitch's."
"Then you will scarcely be glad to be alive when you've got there, for he is the veriest miser in the countryside. Oh, I know you. However, if you think to find there either faro or a bottle of 'Bonbon' you are mistaken. Look here, my good friend. Let Sobakevitch go to the devil, and come to my place, where at least I shall have a piece of sturgeon to offer you for dinner. Ponomarev said to me on parting: 'This piece is just the thing for you. Even if you were to search the whole market, you would never find a better one.' But of course he is a terrible rogue. I said to him outright: 'You and the Collector of Taxes are the two greatest skinflints in the town.' But he only stroked his beard and smiled. Every day I used to breakfast with Kuvshinnikov in his restaurant. Well, what I was nearly forgetting is this: that, though I am aware that you can't forgo your engagement, I am not going to give you up—no, not for ten thousand roubles of money. I tell you that in advance."
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 fact, 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 do you keep?"
"Aniseed."
"Then bring me a glass of it," repeated Nozdrev.
"And one for me as well," added the flaxen-haired man.
