All the ladies were now thoroughly displeased with Tchitchikoff’s behaviour. One of them walked past him, expressly for the purpose of letting him see how she felt, and even brushed the little blonde, in a very impertinent manner, with the heavy rouleau of her dress, and so arranged the scarf which was fluttering about her shoulders, that the end of it flourished into the girl’s face; at the same moment, there proceeded from the mouth of some ladies in the rear a very biting and vicious remark, in company with an odour of violets. But he either did not hear it, or pretended that he did not; and this was not right, for the opinions of ladies should be prized. He repented of this, but later on, and consequently, too late.
Indignation, which was perfectly just in every respect, now took possession of the ladies, and was depicted on their faces. However great may have been Tchitchikoff’s weight in society, although he was a millionaire, and nobility was expressed—and even something martial and military—on his countenance, yet there are things which ladies will not forgive any man for, be he who he may; and when that is the case—why, there’s the end of him. There are cases when a woman, however weak and insipid her character may be, in comparison with that of a man, suddenly becomes firmer not only than a man, but firmer than anything in the whole world. The scorn expressed, almost unintentionally, by Tchitchikoff, restored among the ladies that spirit of concord which had almost vanished, in consequence of their mutual jealousy. The few dry and commonplace words which they involuntarily uttered contained sharp insinuations. To complete the disaster, one of the young men composed on the spot some of those satirical verses about the dancers, without which, as is well known, hardly any provincial ball passes off. These verses were instantly attributed to Tchitchikoff. The indignation waxed fiercer, and the ladies began to talk about him in the various corners, in the most unpleasant manner; as for the poor school-girl, she was utterly annihilated, and sentence was pronounced upon her at once.
But in the meantime, a surprise of the most disagreeable sort was in preparation for our hero. At the very moment when the pretty blonde was yawning, and he was relating to her various incidents which had happened to him at divers times, and even touching lightly on the Greek philosopher Diogenes, Nozdreff made his appearance from the last room in the suite. He was in a joyous, merry mood, and came arm in arm with the procurator, whom he had probably been dragging about for some time already; for the poor procurator was bending his heavy brows in every direction, as though endeavouring to devise some means of ridding himself of this friendly promenade. In fact, it was intolerable. Nozdreff had sipped courage with two cups of tea, with rum, of course, and had been lying unmercifully. On catching sight of him at a distance, Tchitchikoff even made up his mind to a sacrifice—that is, to abandon his enviable position, and to effect as speedy a retreat as possible: for this encounter boded no good to him. But as ill-luck would have it, the governor came up at that moment, expressed extraordinary delight at having found Pavel Ivanovitch, and detained him, begging him to act as judge in a dispute of his with two ladies on the question, “Whether woman’s love were lasting, or not?” However, in the meantime, Nozdreff had caught sight of our hero, and made straight for him.
“Ah, ah! the Khersonese landowner! the Khersonese landowner!” he shouted, marching up, and bursting into a laugh, which made his cheeks, fresh and glowing as a rose in spring, quiver: “How now? have you bought any more dead souls? Surely, you do not know, your excellency,” he screamed, turning to the governor: “this man deals in dead souls! By Heavens! Listen, Tchitchikoff: you know that I am speaking out of friendship, for you and I are friends, and his excellency here also. I would like to hang you, by Heavens, I’d like to hang you!”
Tchitchikoff did not know where he was.
“Will you believe it, your excellency?” went on Nozdreff: “he said to me, ‘Sell me your dead souls’; and I fairly burst with laughter! I come here, and I am told that he has purchased three million roubles’ worth of serfs for colonisation. Colonisation, indeed! he tried to buy dead souls of me. Listen, Tchitchikoff: you’re a fraud, by Heavens, a fraud! Here’s his excellency here.—It’s true, isn’t it, procurator?”
But the procurator, Tchitchikoff, and even the governor himself, were in such confusion, that they found absolutely nothing whatever to say; and in the meantime, Nozdreff, paying not the least heed to them,