That night when he went to bed he did not sleep. His thoughts kept him awake. He was meditating how he might become the owner, not of a fanciful, but of a real, estate. If he could only mortgage those dead souls, and acquire some property which was not in cloudland! He already beheld himself actively engaged in directing things, just as Kostanzhoglo had instructed him—swiftly, and yet cautiously, watching everything with his own eyes, making himself personally acquainted with all the peasants, devoting himself solely to labour and to the management of affairs. He tasted, in anticipation, the pleasure which he would experience when he had instituted strict order, and when all the springs of the domestic machine were acting vigorously, propelling one another. Work pressed; and just as flour is rapidly ground from the grain in a mill, so cash, hard cash, was being continually extracted from all sorts of scraps and refuse. His host was the first man in all Russia for whom he had experienced a personal respect. So far, he had respected a man either for his high official rank or for his possessions. Never yet had he respected any man for his mind alone. Kostanzhoglo was the first, and our hero understood that he could not play any tricks on him. Another project, moreover, engrossed his thoughts—that of purchasing Khlobuyoff’s estate. He had ten thousand roubles of his own, and he thought of trying to borrow fifteen thousand from Kostanzhoglo, since the latter had already declared that he was ready to assist any man who was desirous of becoming wealthy. The rest he might require must be obtained in some other way, either by mortgage or simply by making Khlobuyoff wait. That was possible, too, surely. And he pondered upon the subject for a long time. At length Morpheus, who had held all the household in his embrace for fully four hours already, clasped Tchitchikoff also to his bosom. He fell into a sound sleep and began to snore.


  By PanEris using Melati.

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