went reverently towards him, kissed him on the cheek and received an imprint of a kiss from him.
Skudronzhoglo's face was very striking. It betrayed its southern origin. His hair and his eyebrows were thick and dark, his eyes were speaking and of intense brilliance. Every expression of his face was sparkling with intelligence, and there was nothing drowsy about him. But an element of something choleric and irritable could be detected. He was not of pure Russian descent. There are in Russia numbers of Russians not of Russian descent, but quite Russians in heart. Skudronzhoglo took no interest in his origin, thinking that it made no practical difference, and he knew no language but Russian.
'Do you know, Konstantin, what I am thinking of?' said Platonov.
'Why what?
'I have thought of going for a driving tour in several provinces, perhaps it would cure me of my depression.'
'Well, very likely it will.'
'In company of Pavel Ivanovitch here.'
'Excellent. What districts,' asked Skudronzhoglo, addressing Tchitchikov cordially, 'do you purpose visiting now?'
'I must own,' said Tchitchikov, putting his head on one side and grasping the arm of his chair, 'for the moment I am not travelling so much on my own affairs as upon somebody else's.
