completely melted, his spirit was softened and his eyes were filled with tears. And, strange to say, unexpected help almost always came to him from one quarter or another at these times; either some of his old friends would think of him and send him some money; or a wealthy lady, a generous Christian soul, a stranger to him personally, casually heard his story on a visit to the town, and with the impulsive generosity of the female heart, sent him a handsome present; or some law-suit of which he had never even heard would be settled to his advantage. Reverently and gratefully he recognised at such times the incomprehensible mercy of Providence, had a thanksgiving service celebrated, and began the same reckless life as before.
'I am sorry for him, I am really sorry for him!' said Platonov to Tchitchikov, as they were driving away.
'A prodigal son!' said Tchitchikov. 'It is no use being sorry for people like that.'
And soon they both left off thinking about him: Platonov, because he took an indolent and apathetic view of every one's position as of everything in the world, indeed. His heart was touched and ached at the sight of the sufferings of others, but his impressions did not cut deeply into his heart. He did not think of Hlobuev for he did not think even of himself. Tchitchikov did not think of Hlobuev because all his thoughts were absorbed in his new purchase. He was reckoning and calculating and
