and toil. It was God’s will that they should quit this world, thereby diminishing your property. As regards the honey, you received twelve roubles for your labour and exertions; but as regards the souls you will obtain fifteen roubles gratuitously so to say; and not in silver, but in blue banknotes.” After these powerful arguments, Tchitchikoff hardly entertained a doubt but what the old woman would surrender.

“Indeed!” she replied. “I am a widow, and so inexperienced in business! It will be better for me to wait a little while: perhaps some merchants may come, and I can find out about the prices.”

“It’s a shame to talk like that, my dear woman! it’s simply a shame! Now, just consider what you are saying! Who will buy those dead serfs? Come, what use can be made of them?”

“Perhaps they may be needed some day on the estate,” rejoined the old woman; and without concluding her speech, she opened her mouth, and stared at Tchitchikoff almost in terror, desirous of knowing what he would reply.

“Dead men, indeed, about the estate!” he exclaimed. “Eh! where did you get that idea? They might be used as scarecrows in your kitchen-garden to frighten away the sparrows. That’s what you mean, I suppose, eh?”

“May the powers of the cross be with us! what terrible things you say!” began the old woman, crossing herself.

“What else would you set them doing? And, moreover, the bones and the graves will all remain with you: the transfer will only be on paper. Now, what do you say to that? How is it to be? Give me an answer, at any rate!”

The old woman began to reflect again.

“What are you thinking of, Nastasya Petrovna?”

“In truth, I cannot decide what to do: it will be better for me to sell you my hemp.”

“But what should I do with your hemp? I am talking to you of something entirely different, if you please; and yet you thrust your hemp on me! Hemp is hemp, and when I come again, I may take it. But not now. So, how is it to be, Nastasya Petrovna?”

“By Heavens! dead souls are such strange wares—I never heard the like before.”

Here Tchitchikoff exceeded all the bounds of patience, dashed a chair on to the floor, and consigned the lady to the fiend.

She was extremely frightened. “Ah! don’t mention him. God be with him!” she exclaimed, turning very pale. “Only two days ago, I dreamed of the Evil One all night. I had a fancy to tell my fortune with cards, after saying my prayers, and God evidently sent him as a punishment. I saw him in such terrible guise; his horns were longer than a bull’s.”

“I am surprised that you don’t dream of fiends by the dozen,” said our friend. “I made my proposition from motives of Christian philanthropy alone: I see a poor widow struggling along, suffering from want.—Well, go to destruction then, and perish with your whole village!”

“Ah! dear me—why do you try to quarrel?” said the old woman, looking at him in terror.

“There’s no use in saying a word to you. Truly, now, you are exactly like the house-dog, who lies in the hay, and neither eats the hay himself nor permits anyone else to eat it. I should have liked to purchase various domestic products from you, for I sometimes take government contracts also.”