“I say what I know, that is all, sir.”

“Well, here is the price of your work. Did you cut and make it yourself?” he added, as he gazed at his figure in the glass.

“I did, sir.”

“This money is for yourself?”

“No; it is for my master: if you will give me something for myself you will afford me great pleasure, sir.”

“Here, then, take this, and go and have a drink of tea to my health.” Thereupon our hero gave the fellow a silver rouble.

Once alone he assumed different poses in front of the mirror, saluted forwards, backwards, and obliquely, girded on his sword of state, drew on his gloves, and, as the weather was very fine, betook himself on foot to the assembly-house of the nobility.

The bell had been ringing for half an hour already, to sound the call to the elections; the nobles arrived in increasing numbers as the time passed by, and before the door stood some soldiers, who had been placed there as reinforcements for the city police, which was represented by five or six agents.

The house where the nobility assembled was full of noise. People were hurrying in and out. Acquaintances met and indulged in the national practice of hugging and kissing, which did not, however, exclude hand- shaking in the English fashion. In the great hall Tchitchikoff perceived, not without some surprise, a throng of men who were saluting not only their acquaintances, but even the strangers whom they now saw for the first time. Their air was quiet and respectful, not to say obsequious: their hair was smooth, and their chins freshly shaven. These gentlemen were the candidates for the higher magisterial offices in that province.

The marshal of the nobility of the province, dressed in the uniform of a gentleman of the bed-chamber to His Imperial Majesty, made his entrance, bowing courteously on all sides. He halted in the midst of the crowd, and conversed in a friendly way with the nobles of his acquaintance. The district marshals took it upon themselves to present to him the nobles of their districts. Meanwhile the chief marshal did not cease to bow, and he even gave his hand to some of the nobles as they passed him.

Tchitchikoff had not counted upon so signal an honour, so that he felt discomposed and surprised when the marshal offered him his hand with a good deal of warmth. His flattered self-esteem immediately became apparent in his walk, in the manner in which he carried his head, and in the air of his entire person. He fully understood how much he had gained in the eyes of all his country neighbours; indeed, all the nobles of his district stared at him for several minutes, and some of them discovered that he possessed the physiognomy of a diplomat.

“Tell me,” said one noble to another, “why did the marshal shake hands like that with Tchitchikoff?”

“It happened through absence of mind: it was chance, that is all.”

“No, no! After giving him his hand, he raised his thick eyebrows; and I observed, that in looking at Tchitchikoff, as at a person whom one is glad to find at his post, he uttered a significant ah—ah—ah.”

“Bah! it was accident, or chance.”

“Accident doesn’t explain anything.”

“Well, how am I to know what you are asking about? I was looking up above, in the galleries.”