oment into the ante-room to inspect it. They
congratulated him and said pleasant things to him, so that he began at
first to smile and then to grow ashamed. When all surrounded him, and
said that the new cloak must be "christened," and that he must give
a whole evening at least to this, Akakiy Akakievitch lost his head
completely, and did not know where he stood, what to answer, or how to
get out of it. He stood blushing all over for several minutes, and was
on the point of assuring them with great simplicity that it was not a
new cloak, that it was so and so, that it was in fact the old "cape."

At length one of the officials, a sub-chief probably, in order to show
that he was not at all proud, and on good terms with his inferiors,
said, "So be it, only I will give the party instead of Akakiy
Akakievitch; I invite you all to tea with me to-night; it happens quite
a propos, as it is my name-day." The officials naturally at once offered
the sub-chief their congratulations and accepted the invitations with
pleasure. Akakiy Akakievitch would have declined, but all declared that
it was discourteous, that it was simply a sin and a shame, and that he
could not possibly refuse. Besides, the notion became pleasant to him
when he recollected that he should thereby have a chance of wearing his
new cloak in the evening also.

That whole day was truly a most triumphant festival day for Akakiy
Akakievitch. He returned home in the most happy frame of mind, took off
his cloak, and hung it carefully on the wall, admiring afresh the
cloth and the lining. Then he brought out his old, worn-out cloak, for
comparison. He looked at it and laughed, so vast was the difference.
And long after dinner he laughed again when the condition of the "cape"
recurred to his mind. He dined cheerfully, and after dinner wrote
nothing, but took his ease for a while on the bed, until it got dark.
Then he dressed himself leisurely, put on his cloak, and stepped out
into the street. Where the host lived, unfortunately we cannot say:
our memory begins to fail us badly; and the houses and streets in St.
Petersburg have become so mixed up in our head that it is very difficult
to get anything out of it again in proper form. This much is certain,
that the official lived in the best part of the city; and therefore
it must have been anything but near to Akakiy Akakievitch's residence.
Akakiy Akakievitch was first obliged to traverse a kind of wilderness of
deserted,