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Rh "No, I have said that never shall I forget you," replied Chichikov as he hurried into the hall.

"And would you like to buy some lard?" continued his hostess, pursuing him.

"Lard? Oh, certainly. Why not? Only, only—I will do so another time."

"I shall have some ready at about Christmas."

"Quite so, madam. Then I will buy anything and everything—the lard included."

"And perhaps you will be wanting also some feathers? I shall be having some for sale about St. Philip's Day."

"Very well, very well, madam."

"There you see!" she remarked as they stepped on to the verandah. "The britchka is not yet ready."

"But it soon will be, it soon will be. Only direct me to the main road."

"How am I to do that? " said Madame. "'Twould puzzle a wise man to do so, for in these parts there are so many turnings. However, I will send a girl to guide you. You could find room for her on the box-seat, could you not? "

"Yes, of course."

"Then I will send her. She knows the way thoroughly. Only do not carry her off for good. Already some traders have deprived me of one of my girls."

Chichikov reassured his hostess on the point, and Madame plucked up courage enough to scan, first of all, the housekeeper, who happened to be issuing from the storehouse with a bowl of honey, and, next, a young peasant who happened to be standing at the gates; and, while thus engaged, she became wholly absorbed in her domestic pursuits. But why pay her so much attention? The Widow Korobotchka, Madame Manilov, domestic life, non-domestic life—away with them all! How strangely are things compounded! In a trice may joy turn to sorrow, should one halt long enough over it: in a trice only God can say what ideas may strike one. You may fall even to thinking: "After all, did Madame Korobotchka stand so very low in the scale of human perfection? Was there really such a very great gulf between her and Madame Manilov—between her and  the Madame Manilov whom we have seen entrenched behind the walls of a genteel mansion in which there were a fine staircase of wrought metal and a number of rich carpets; the Madame Manilov who spent most of her time in yawning behind half-read books, and in hoping for a visit from some socially distinguished