'What foul action and dishonesty, your Excellency?' asked Tchitchikov, trembling in every limb.
'The woman who signed the will at your instigation,' said the prince, coming closer and looking Tchitchikov straight in the face, 'has been arrested and will stand beside you.'
Tchitchikov turned as pale as a sheet. 'Your Excellency! I will tell you the whole truth of the matter; I am to blame, I am truly to blame, but not so much to blame, my enemies have traduced me.'
'No one can traduce you, because your infamy is many times worse than any slanderer could invent. I believe you have never done anything in your life that was not dishonest. Every farthing you have gained has been gained in some dishonest way, by thieving and dishonesty that deserves the knout and Siberia! No, enough! You will be removed to prison this minute and there, side by side with the lowest scoundrels and robbers, you must wait for your fate to be decided. And even that is too merciful, for you are far worse than they are: they are in smock and sheepskin while you …' He glanced at the coat of the 'smoke and flame of Navarino,' and, taking hold of the bellpull, rang.
'Your Excellency,' shrieked Tchitchikov, 'be merciful! You are the father of a family. Me I do not ask you to spare, I have an old mother!'
'You are lying,' cried the prince wrathfully. 'Last time you besought me for the sake of your
