he had received the money from the mortgage of his estate Pyotr Petrovitch had laid in a supply of wine for the next ten years. He kept on filling up the glasses; what the guests would not drink he poured out for Alexasha and Nikolasha, who simply tossed off one glass after another, and yet got up from the table as though nothing had happened, as though they had only drunk a glass of water. It was not the same with the visitors. They could hardly drag themselves to the verandah, and were only just able to sink into armchairs; as soon as the master of the house had settled himself in his, an armchair that would have held four, he dropped asleep. His corpulent person was transformed into a blacksmith's bellows: from his open mouth and from his nose he began to emit sounds such as are not found even in the newest music. All the instruments were represented, the drum, the flute, and a strange abrupt note, like the yap of a dog. …
'Isn't he whistling!' said Platonov. Tchitchikov laughed.
'Of course if one dines like that,' said Platonov, 'how can one be bored, one falls asleep.'
'Yes,' said Tchitchikov languidly. His eyes seemed to be becoming very small. 'All the same, if you will forgive my saying so, I can't understand how you can be bored. There are so many things you can do to keep off boredom.'
'Such as?'
'Why there are all sorts of things a young
