gress its laws, he added a little more distinctly: 'Pray sit down!'
'It's a long time since I have seen visitors,' he said, 'and I must own I don't see much use in them. A most unseemly habit of visiting one another has come into fashion, and it means neglecting one's work … and one has to give hay to their horses too! I had my dinner hours ago, my kitchen is humble and in a very bad state, and the chimney is completely in ruins: if one were to begin to heat the stove, one would set fire to the place.'
'So that's how the land lies!' thought Tchitchikov to himself. 'It's a good thing I did eat a cheese-cake and a good slice of saddle of mutton at Sobakevitch's.'
'And what is so tiresome is that there is not a bundle of hay on the whole estate!' Plyushkin went on. 'And indeed how is one to have any? I have a wretched little bit of land and the peasants are lazy, they are not fond of work, they are always trying to get off to the tavern. ... If I don't look out, I shall be begging my bread in my old age!'
'I have been told, however,' said Tchitchikov modestly, 'that you have more than a thousand serfs.'
'And who told you that? You ought to have spat in his face when he said that, my good sir. It seems he was jeering, he wanted to have a joke with you. Here they chatter about a thousand serfs, but you should just go and count them,
