may win the devil knows what a haul. Oh, luck, luck!" he went on, beginning to deal, in the hope of raising a quarrel. "Here is the cursed nine upon which, the other night, I lost everything. All along I knew that I should lose my money. Said I to myself: 'The devil take you, you false, accursed card!'"
Just as Nozdrev uttered the words Porphyri entered with a fresh bottle of liquor; but Chichikov declined either to play or to drink.
"Why do you refuse to play?" asked Nozdrev.
"Because I feel indisposed to do so. Moreover, I must confess that I am no great hand at cards."
"Why are you no great hand at them?"
Chichikov shrugged his shoulders. "Because I am not," he replied.
"You are no great hand at anything, I think."
"What does that matter? God has made me so."
"The truth is you are a Thetuk, and nothing else. Once upon a time I believed you to be a good fellow, but now I see that you don't understand civility. One cannot speak to you as one would to an intimate, for there is no frankness or sincerity about you. You are a regular Sobakevitch—just such another as he."
"For what reason are you abusing me? Am I in any way at fault for declining to play cards? Sell me those souls if you are the man to hesitate over such rubbish."
"The foul fiend take you! I was about to have given them to you for nothing, but now you shan't have them at all—not if you offer me three kingdoms in exchange. Henceforth I will have nothing to do with you, you cobbler, you dirty blacksmith! Porphyri, go and tell the ostler to give the gentleman's horses no oats, but only hay."
This development Chichikov had scarcely expected.
"And do you," added Nozdrev to his guest, "get out of my sight."
Yet in spite of this, host and guest took supper together—even though on this occasion the table was adorned with no wines of fictitious nomenclature, but only with a bottle which reared its solitary head beside a jug of what is usually known as vin ordinaire. When supper was over Nozdrev said to Chichikov as he conducted him to a side room where a bed had been made up:
"This is where you are to sleep. I cannot very well wish you good-night."
Left to himself on Nozdrev's departure, Chichikov felt in a
