along, certain thoughts concerning
the Governor's daughter would keep whirling through his head, so that
almost he forgot where he was, and took to smiling and cracking jokes to
himself.

Arrived at the Governor's entrance, he was about to divest himself
of his scarf when a Swiss footman greeted him with the words, "I am
forbidden to admit you."

"What?" he exclaimed. "You do not know me? Look at me again, and see if
you do not recognise me."

"Of course I recognise you," the footman replied. "I have seen you
before, but have been ordered to admit any one else rather than Monsieur
Chichikov."

"Indeed? And why so?"

"Those are my orders, and they must be obeyed," said the footman,
confronting Chichikov with none of that politeness with which, on
former occasions, he had hastened to divest our hero of his wrappings.
Evidently he was of opinion that, since the gentry declined to receive
the visitor, the latter must certainly be a rogue.

"I cannot understand it," said Chichikov to himself. Then he departed,
and made his way to the house of the President of the Council. But so
put about was that official by Chichikov's entry that he could not utter
two consecutive words--he could only murmur some rubbish which left both
his visitor and himself out of countenance. Chichikov wondered, as he
left the house, what the President's muttered words could have meant,
but failed to make head or tail of them. Next, he visited, in turn, the
Chief of Police, the Vice-Governor, the Postmaster, and others; but in
each case he either failed to be accorded admittance or was received
so strangely, and with such a measure of constraint and conversational
awkwardness and absence of mind and embarrassment, that he began to fear
for the sanity of his hosts. Again and again did he strive to divine
the cause, but could not do so; so he went wandering aimlessly about
the town, without succeeding in making up his mind whether he or
the officials had gone crazy. At length, in a state bordering upon
bewilderment, he returned to the inn--to the establishment whence, that
every afternoon, he had set forth in such exuberance of spirits. Feeling
the need of something to do, he ordered tea, and, still marvelling at
the strangeness of his position, was about to pour out the beverage when
the door opened and Nozdrev made his appearance.

"What says the proverb?" he began. "'To see a friend, seven versts is
not too long a round to make.' I happened