his back worn as threadbare as a bit of matting, and with a hen's feather sticking on it. On entering the office, they saw that the president was not alone. With him was sitting Sobakevitch, completely screened by the Double Eagle. The entrance of the guests was greeted with an exclamation, the presidential chair was noisily pushed back. Sobakevitch, too, got up from his chair, and became visible from all sides, with his long sleeves. The president clasped Tchitchikov in his arms, and the room resounded with kisses; they inquired after each other's health; it appeared that both were suffering from pains in the back, which were at once set down to a sedentary life. The president seemed to have been already informed of the purchase by Sobakevitch, for he began congratulating our hero, which at first rather embarrassed the latter, especially when he saw Sobakevitch and Manilov, two vendors, with each of whom the business had been transacted in private, now standing face to face. He thanked the president, however, and addressing Sobakevitch, asked: 'And how are you?'
'Thank God, I have nothing to complain of,' said Sobakevitch. And certainly he had nothing to complain of. Iron might as soon catch cold and cough, as that marvellously constituted gentleman.
'Yes, you have always been famous for your health,' said the president. 'And your good father was just as strong.'
