Tchitchikoff was still more amazed.

“How is this? I hope, at least, that I have the pleasure of addressing Colonel Koshkareff?”

“No, don’t hope it. Thank God that you have come not to him but to me, Piotr Petrovitch Pyetukh, Pyetukh Piotr Petrovitch,” repeated the host.

Tchitchikoff was petrified. “How’s this?” said he, turning to Selifan and Petrushka, both of whom dropped their jaws and stared with all their eyes, as one sat on the box and the other stood at the door of the calash. “How’s this, you fools? You were told to go to Colonel Koshkareff’s, and this is Piotr Petrovitch Pyetukh’s?”

“You have behaved capitally, my children! Go to the kitchen: they will give each of you a measure of vodka there,” said Piotr Petrovitch Pyetukh. “Unharness the horses, and go to the servants’ quarters this instant!”

“I am meditating what I ought to do: such an unforeseen mistake,” said Tchitchikoff.

“It’s no mistake. First see what sort of a dinner we have, and then say whether it is a mistake. I most humbly beg of you to enter,” added Pyetukh, taking Tchitchikoff by the arm, and leading him into the house. From the rooms there emerged to meet them two young fellows dressed in summer surtouts, and as slender as willow wands: they exceeded their father in height by a full arshin.

“My sons, students at the gymnasium, who have come home for the holidays. You can remain with our guest, Nikolasha; and you, Alexasha, come with me.” So saying, the host disappeared.

Tchitchikoff devoted his attention to Nikolasha. The latter, it appeared, bade fair to be a good-for-nothing in the future. He told Tchitchikoff, the very first thing, that there was no advantage to be derived from studying at the provincial gymnasium; that he and his brother wanted to go to Petersburg, because the provinces were not fit to live in.

“I understand,” thought Tchitchikoff: “the matter will end with the confectioners’ shops and the boulevards. But how are matters?” he asked aloud: “in what condition is your papa’s property?”

“Mortgaged,” replied the papa himself, who was again in the drawing-room. “Mortgaged.”

“That’s bad,” thought Tchitchikoff. “At this rate there will soon be no estate at all. I must make haste—but that was surely unnecessary,” he said, with an air of regret. “You have been over-hasty in mortgaging it.”

“No, not at all,” said Pyetukh. “People say that it is profitable. Everybody mortgages his property now: how can one help following the example of others? Besides, I have always lived here: I am going to try to live in Moscow. Here are my sons persuading me to do so; they long for the culture of the capital.”

“What a fool this man is,” thought Tchitchikoff: “he is squandering everything, and making spendthrifts of his sons. It’s a snug little property. When you come to look at it, the peasants are well off, and he’s not badly situated either. But when they become cultured yonder, in the restaurants and theatres, everything will go to the devil. This fisherman ought to live on his own property in the country.”

“I am sure that I know what you are thinking of,” said Pyetukh.

“What?” inquired Tchitchikoff, in some confusion.

“You are thinking, ‘Fool, fool that this Pyetukh is! he has invited me to dinner, and as yet there’s no dinner provided. Well, it will soon be ready, most respected sir. It will be ready before a girl with a shaved head has time to braid her hair.”