Then he climbed up to reach some cloth from a shelf. The piece fell down. He unrolled it with the art of a bygone age, and even forgot for the moment that he belonged to a later generation as he held it to the light, even emerging from his shop to do so, screwing up his eyes as he faced the light, and saying, “’Tis the most exquisite shade of cloth, Navarino smoke-tint and flame-colour.”
The cloth was satisfactory; the price was agreed to, although it was with “a prefix,” as the dealer declared. Then a clever tearing movement was executed with both hands. Finally it was enveloped in paper in the Russian fashion, with incredible swiftness. The bundle was then encircled with a slender cord, which clasped it with a knot which palpitated with life. Next the cord was snipped off with some shears, and the whole placed in the calash.
“Show me some black cloth,” now rang out a voice in the shop.
“Here’s Khlobuyoff, deuce take him!” said Tchitchikoff to himself, and he turned his back that he might not see the other; for he considered it ill-bred on the latter’s part to enter into any explanation with him in regard to the inheritance. But Khlobuyoff had already espied him.
“How is this, Pavel Ivanovitch? Are you avoiding me intentionally? I am never able to find you, although there are some matters which we must discuss seriously.”
“My most respected sir, my most respected sir,” said Tchitchikoff, squeezing his hand, “believe me, I am extremely desirous of having a talk with you; but I really have no time.” And he said to himself, “May the Devil fly away with you!” when all at once, he saw Murazoff, the wealthy farmer of the brandy revenues, entering the shop. “Ah, my heavens, Afanasiy Vasilievitch!” said Tchitchikoff; “this is a fortunate encounter!”
Then Vishnepokromoff, who entered after him, repeated, “Afanasiy Vasilievitch!” And the well-bred shopman, holding his hat as far from his head as his arm would allow, and bending his whole body forward, exclaimed, “Your most humble servant, Afanasiy Vasilievitch!” All their faces exhibited that dog-like servility which sinful man shows to a millionaire.
Old Murazoff bowed to all of them, and turned directly to Khlobuyoff. “Excuse me: having seen you from a distance entering this shop, I decided to trouble you. If you are at liberty, and if your way lies past my house, do me the favour to come in for a short time. I must speak with you.”
Khlobuyoff replied “Very well, Afanasiy Vasilievitch.”
“What very beautiful weather we are having, Afanasiy Vasilievitch,” said Tchitchikoff.
“Yes, are we not,” interposed Vishnepokromoff. “It is quite unusual, surely.”
“Yes, sir, thank God, it is not bad. But a little rain is required to allow of sowing.”
“It is very, very much needed,” responded Vishnepokromoff. “And it would be well for the hunting season also.”
“Yes, a shower would do no harm,” chimed in Tchitchikoff, who did not need any rain at all; but for some reason or other it is always pleasant to agree with a man who possesses millions.
“My head simply grows dizzy,” said Tchitchikoff, when Murazoff went out, “at the thought that that man owns ten millions. It is simply incredible.”
“The thing is monstrous,” said Vishnepokromoff. “Capital ought not to be in the hands of a few. This is now the subject of treaties in every country of Europe. If you have any money, share it with your neighbour; entertain, give balls, indulge in beneficent luxury, which furnishes food to artisans and handicraftsmen.”