d I have next to none.'

'Never mind, matouchka,' said Tchitchikof. 'My business in these parts
is different. You were mentioning that you have had many deaths here?'

'Alas, yes! eighteen souls,' said Nastasie, sighing; 'and such fine
fellows: and the worst is, I shall have to pay for them. The assessor
arrives, you must pay what he demands--pay to a soul. Eighteen die--it
is all one--you pay the same. They are frightful, they are ruinous,
these deaths!'

'Ah, Nastasie,' said Tchitchikof, 'it is the will of God: we must not
murmur against Providence! But tell me--will you let me have them?'

'Let you have what?'

'Your dead souls.'

'How can I let you have _them_?'

'Nothing easier. Sell them to me: I will give you money for them.'

'How! what! Do you want to disinter them?'

'Disinter them! what nonsense; no!' cried Tchitchikof. 'You hand them
over to me by a regular conveyance, and I pay you whatever we agree
upon for them.'

'And what will you do with them?' asked Nastasie in great surprise.

'That is my business,' said Tchitchikof.

'But you see they are dead.'

'And who, in the name of goodness, said they were living?' cried he.
'It's a misfortune for you that they are dead, isn't it? You pay the
tax for them, don't you?--and that'll half-ruin you, you say. Well, I
clear you of the tax for these eighteen dead ones--do you
understand?--not only clear you of the tax, but give fifteen rubles
into the bargain. Is that clear, or is it not?'

'No--yes--I can't tell what to say. You see, I have never sold _dead_
peasants before, and'-----

'It would be queer if you had,' cried Tchitchikof. 'Who'd buy them, do
you think? It's my humour, my whim, to have them. I gain nothing by
them--how can I?--and you gain everything. Cannot you see that?'

'Yes--but--really I don't know what to say. What puzzles me is, that
they are dead.'

'She hasn't the brains of a bullock,' exclaimed Tchitchikof
indignantly. 'Listen, matouchka. Pay attention. You pay for them as if
they were living: that will ruin you.'

'Ah, that is true indeed, batiouchka. In three months, I must pay one
hundred and fifty rubles, and bribe the assessor to boot.'

'Well, then, I save you all that trouble. I pay for these eighteen--I,
not you. When you sign the contract, I hand over the money. Do you
understand now?'

As Nastasie's cupidity excelled her stupidity, she did begin to
understand; and after a little more hesitation and explanati