stuffing with onions and mushrooms, some garlic, sweet milk, brains, cocks’ crests and crawfish, and—you know; arrange it so that it may be appetising.”
“Yes, sir. I will do as you tell me.”
“And let it be browned on one side, and lighter on the other. And bake it so that the crust may be all soaked with the contents, so that it may be—you know how, not crumbly, but likely to melt in your mouth.” Thereupon Pyetukh smacked his lips, and wiped them.
“The deuce take it! He won’t let me go to sleep,” thought Tchitchikoff, as he wrapped the coverlet round his head, in order not to hear. However, through the coverlet now came the words—
“And round the sturgeon place some little stars of beetroot and mushrooms—you know, with horse- radish and turnips, carrots and beans, and some of that—what do you call it?—so that there may be as much garnishing as possible. And then let us have a pig’s breast, well stuffed and with some nice crackling, and the sauce served apart.
And many other dishes besides did Pyetukh order, continually repeating, “And brown it, and roast it crisp, and see that it is well basted!” Tchitchikoff at last fell asleep while his host was giving some orders about a turkey.
The next day the guests overfed themselves to such an extent that Platonoff could not ride. His stallion was sent back in charge of one of Pyetukh’s grooms, and then he and Tchitchikoff seated themselves in the calash, whilst the thick-nosed dog, Yarb, followed them languidly. He, too, had overfed himself.
“This is too much. It does not do to overfeed one’s self like this,” said Tchitchikoff, when they had left the house behind them.
“And our friend thinks such a life the correct thing: that’s the vexatious part of it,” said Platonoff.
“Well, if I had an income of seventy thousand roubles a year like you,” thought Tchitchikoff, “I wouldn’t let myself be bored.”
“Would you object to going to a village about ten versts from here?” inquired Platonoff. “I should like to take leave of my sister and my brother-in-law.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” said Tchitchikoff.
“If you are fond of learning any particulars about the management of an estate,” said Platonoff, “you will take an interest in making my brother-in-law’s acquaintance. You cannot find a better manager than he is. In the space of ten years, he has brought his property into such a fine state that he now receives an income of two hundred thousand roubles from it, instead of thirty thousand, as he did at first.”
“Ah, he must evidently be a most estimable man! It will be extremely interesting to make his acquaintance. But how is this? That is to say, what is his family name?”
“Kostanzhoglo.”
“And his baptismal name and patronymic?”
“Konstantin Feodorovitch.”
“Konstantin Feodorovitch Kostanzhoglo! Indeed, it will be very interesting to make his acquaintance. It must be instructive to know such a man.”