Any expression in the least coarse or derogatory to his dignity was distasteful to him. He even disliked any sort of familiarity, except on the part of some personage of very high rank. And so on this occasion he was greatly offended.
'Upon my soul, I would hang you,' repeated Nozdryov. 'I tell you so openly not to insult you, I only speak as a friend.'
'There is a limit to everything,' said Tchitchikov with an air of dignity. 'If you want to display your wit in this way, you had better go to the barracks'; and then he added, 'If you don't care to give them to me, you might sell them.'
'Sell them! But you see I know you, you are a rascal, I know you won't give much for them.'
'Ugh! you are a nice one, really! Think, what use are they to you, are they diamonds or what?'
'Well, there you are! I knew you'd say that.'
'Upon my word, my dear fellow, what Jewish propensities you have! You ought simply to give them to me.'
'Well, listen then; to show you that I am not a shark, I won't take anything for them. Buy my stallion and I will throw them in as a makeweight.'
'Upon my soul, what do I want with a stallion?' said Tchitchikov, genuinely astounded at such a proposition.
'What do you want with one? But you know I gave ten thousand for him, and I will sell him to you for four.'
'But what do I want with a stallion? I don't keep a stud farm.'
