fell upon Chichikov's neck. "All three of us will
go."

"No, no," put in the flaxen-haired man. "You must excuse me, for I must
be off home."

"Rubbish, rubbish! I am NOT going to excuse you."

"But my wife will be furious with me. You and Monsieur Chichikov must
change into the other britchka."

"Come, come! The thing is not to be thought of."

The flaxen-haired man was one of those people in whose character, at
first sight, there seems to lurk a certain grain of stubbornness--so
much so that, almost before one has begun to speak, they are ready to
dispute one's words, and to disagree with anything that may be opposed
to their peculiar form of opinion. For instance, they will decline to
have folly called wisdom, or any tune danced to but their own. Always,
however, will there become manifest in their character a soft spot, and
in the end they will accept what hitherto they have denied, and call
what is foolish sensible, and even dance--yes, better than any one else
will do--to a tune set by some one else. In short, they generally begin
well, but always end badly.

"Rubbish!" said Nozdrev in answer to a further objection on his
brother-in-law's part. And, sure enough, no sooner had Nozdrev clapped
his cap upon his head than the flaxen-haired man started to follow him
and his companion.

"But the gentleman has not paid for the vodka?" put in the old woman.

"All right, all right, good mother. Look here, brother-in-law. Pay her,
will you, for I have not a kopeck left."

"How much?" inquired the brother-in-law.

"What, sir? Eighty kopecks, if you please," replied the old woman.

"A lie! Give her half a rouble. That will be quite enough."

"No, it will NOT, barin," protested the old woman. However, she took the
money gratefully, and even ran to the door to open it for the gentlemen.
As a matter of fact, she had lost nothing by the transaction, since she
had demanded fully a quarter more than the vodka was worth.

The travellers then took their seats, and since Chichikov's britchka
kept alongside the britchka wherein Nozdrev and his brother-in-law were
seated, it was possible for all three men to converse together as they
proceeded. Behind them came Nozdrev's smaller buggy, with its team
of lean stage horses and Porphyri and the puppy. But inasmuch as the
conversation which the travellers maintained was not of a kind likely
to interest the reader, I might do worse than say something concerning
Nozdrev himself