much, I have done very well. Agreeable conversation is better than the best of good fare.'
They got up from the table. Manilov was extremely delighted and, supporting his visitor's backbone with his arm, was preparing to conduct him to the drawing-room, when all at once the visitor announced with a very significant air that he was proposing to speak to him about a very important matter.
'In that case allow me to invite you into my study,' said Manilov, and he led him into a small room, the window of which looked out towards the forest, bluish in the distance.
'This is my den,' said Manilov.
'A pleasant little room,' said Tchitchikov, scanning it. The room certainly was not without charm: the walls were painted a greyish-blue colour; there were four chairs, one easy-chair, a table on which lay the book and in it the book-marker which we have already had occasion to mention; but what was most in evidence was tobacco. It was conspicuous in various receptacles: in packets, in a jar, and also scattered in a heap on the table. In both the windows also there were little heaps of ashes, carefully arranged in very elegant lines. It might be gathered that their arrangement at moments afforded the master of the house a pastime.
'Allow me to beg you to take this easy-chair,' said Manilov. 'You will be more comfortable.'
'Excuse me, I will sit on this chair.'
'Allow me not to excuse you,' said Manilov with
