“Strong, indeed! He’s wasting away, grain by grain, your excellency.”

“What a fool! Surely he is a fool!”

“He is, your excellency.”

“But he goes out in society? Does he look alert? Can he support himself on his legs?”

“He can stand, but with difficulty.”

“What a fool! But he is strong? Has he still his teeth?”

“Only two, your excellency.”

“What an ass! Don’t get angry, my friend. He’s an ass, even if he is your uncle.”

“He is an ass, your excellency, though he is my relative, and it is hard to acknowledge it. Still, what is to be done?”

Tchitchikoff lied: it was not hard to acknowledge, for the probabilities are that he had never had an uncle whatsover.

“As matters stand,” he added, “if your excellency will be so kind as to grant me——”

“The dead souls? Oh! for such a trick I’d give them to you with land and houses too. Take the whole cemetery! Ha, ha, ha, ha! That old man! that old man! Ha, ha, ha, ha! How your uncle will be fooled! Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

And again the general’s roars of laughter rang through the apartments.³