him. The window overlooked a narrow yard which was filled with domestic fowl of every kind. The turkeys and hens were innumerable; among them stalked a cock with measured steps, shaking his comb, and turning his head on one side, as though he were listening to something. A sow and her litter were also there, poking their snouts into a heap of rubbish. The sow devoured a little chicken by the way, and then quietly continued to eat some water-melon rind. This small court, or chicken-yard, was surrounded by a fence, beyond which spread some broad vegetable gardens filled with onions, cabbages, potatoes, beet- roots, and other vegetables. There was also an orchard with apple and other fruit-trees, covered with nets, so as to protect them from magpies and sparrows: the latter were flitting in large parties from place to place. Several scare-crows with arms outstretched were elevated on long poles, and one of them wore the lady’s own cap. Beyond the vegetable garden came some peasants’ huts, which, although they were built at irregular intervals, and not arranged in street fashion, indicated that there were a number of inhabitants in the place. Tchitchikoff noted that they were all kept in repair as they should be: the worn- out boarding on the roofs had been replaced by new planks; none of the gates hung awry; moreover, in certain sheds turned towards him he observed some carts which were almost new. “Yes, her village is of a fair size,” he said to himself, and he immediately resolved to become more closely acquainted with the lady. He glanced at the doorway through which she had popped her head, and, catching sight of her seated behind the tea-table, he went up to her with a cheerful engaging mien.

“Good-morning, my friend. How did you sleep?” said his hostess, rising from her place. She was better dressed than on the preceding evening, wearing a dark gown, and no longer sporting a nightcap; however, a wrapper was still wound about her throat.

“Well, very well,” said Tchitchikoff, seating himself in an arm-chair. “And how did you sleep, my friend?”

“Badly, my friend.”

“How so?”

“Sleeplessness. My hips ache, and my legs seem as if they would break just above my ankles.”

“It will pass off, it will pass off, my dear woman. You mustn’t pay any attention to it.”

“God grant that it will pass off! I have rubbed myself with lard, and with turpentine also. But what will you take with your tea? There is some fruit-brandy in that flask.”

“That’s not bad, my dear woman—not bad at all. I will take some fruit-brandy.”

Tchitchikoff had made up his mind not to stand on ceremony with this person, so taking his cup of tea in one hand, and pouring some fruit-brandy into it with the other, he resumed as follows:—

“You have a nice little village, my dear woman. How many souls are there?”

“Nearly eighty, my friend,” said his hostess: “but unfortunately the times are bad; last year the crops were frightful! May the Lord preserve us from anything of the kind again.”

“But there are some stout-looking moujiks here, and the izbás are sound. Permit me to ask your family name. I was so upset—I arrived so late at night that——”

“My name is Korobotchka. I am the widow of a collegiate secretary.”

“I thank you humbly. And your other name?”

“Nastasya Petrovna.”

“Nastasya Petrovna? That’s a fine name, Nastasya Petrovna. I have an aunt, my mother’s sister, who is named Nastasya Petrovna.”