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- Николай Гоголь
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- Стр. 190/232
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"
Constantine
,
it
is
time
to
leave
the
table
,
"
said
the
lady
of
the
house
,
rising
from
her
seat
.
Every
one
followed
her
example
,
and
Chichikov
once
again
acted
as
his
hostess
's
escort
--
although
with
less
dexterity
of
deportment
than
before
,
owing
to
the
fact
that
this
time
his
thoughts
were
occupied
with
more
essential
matters
of
procedure
.
"
In
spite
of
what
you
say
,
"
remarked
Platon
as
he
walked
behind
the
pair
,
"
I
,
for
my
part
,
find
these
things
wearisome
.
"
But
the
master
of
the
house
paid
no
attention
to
his
remark
,
for
he
was
reflecting
that
his
guest
was
no
fool
,
but
a
man
of
serious
thought
and
speech
who
did
not
take
things
lightly
.
And
,
with
the
thought
,
Kostanzhoglo
grew
lighter
in
soul
,
as
though
he
had
warmed
himself
with
his
own
words
,
and
were
exulting
in
the
fact
that
he
had
found
some
one
capable
of
listening
to
good
advice
.
When
they
had
settled
themselves
in
the
cosy
,
candle-lighted
drawing-room
,
with
its
balcony
and
the
glass
door
opening
out
into
the
garden
--
a
door
through
which
the
stars
could
be
seen
glittering
amid
the
slumbering
tops
of
the
trees
--
Chichikov
felt
more
comfortable
than
he
had
done
for
many
a
day
past
.
It
was
as
though
,
after
long
journeying
,
his
own
roof-tree
had
received
him
once
more
--
had
received
him
when
his
quest
had
been
accomplished
,
when
all
that
he
wished
for
had
been
gained
,
when
his
travelling-staff
had
been
laid
aside
with
the
words
"
It
is
finished
.
"
And
of
this
seductive
frame
of
mind
the
true
source
had
been
the
eloquent
discourse
of
his
hospitable
host
.
Yes
,
for
every
man
there
exist
certain
things
which
,
instantly
that
they
are
said
,
seem
to
touch
him
more
closely
,
more
intimately
,
than
anything
has
done
before
.
Nor
is
it
an
uncommon
occurrence
that
in
the
most
unexpected
fashion
,
and
in
the
most
retired
of
retreats
,
one
will
suddenly
come
face
to
face
with
a
man
whose
burning
periods
will
lead
one
to
forget
oneself
and
the
tracklessness
of
the
route
and
the
discomfort
of
one
's
nightly
halting-places
,
and
the
futility
of
crazes
and
the
falseness
of
tricks
by
which
one
human
being
deceives
another
.
And
at
once
there
will
become
engraven
upon
one
's
memory
--
vividly
,
and
for
all
time
--
the
evening
thus
spent
.
And
of
that
evening
one
's
remembrance
will
hold
true
,
both
as
to
who
was
present
,
and
where
each
such
person
sat
,
and
what
he
or
she
was
wearing
,
and
what
the
walls
and
the
stove
and
other
trifling
features
of
the
room
looked
like
.
In
the
same
way
did
Chichikov
note
each
detail
that
evening
--
both
the
appointments
of
the
agreeable
,
but
not
luxuriously
furnished
,
room
,
and
the
good-humoured
expression
which
reigned
on
the
face
of
the
thoughtful
host
,
and
the
design
of
the
curtains
,
and
the
amber-mounted
pipe
smoked
by
Platon
,
and
the
way
in
which
he
kept
puffing
smoke
into
the
fat
jowl
of
the
dog
Yarb
,
and
the
sneeze
which
,
on
each
such
occasion
,
Yarb
vented
,
and
the
laughter
of
the
pleasant-faced
hostess
(
though
always
followed
by
the
words
"
Pray
do
not
tease
him
any
more
"
)
and
the
cheerful
candle-light
,
and
the
cricket
chirping
in
a
corner
,
and
the
glass
door
,
and
the
spring
night
which
,
laying
its
elbows
upon
the
tree-tops
,
and
spangled
with
stars
,
and
vocal
with
the
nightingales
which
were
pouring
forth
warbled
ditties
from
the
recesses
of
the
foliage
,
kept
glancing
through
the
door
,
and
regarding
the
company
within
.
"
How
it
delights
me
to
hear
your
words
,
good
Constantine
Thedorovitch
!
"
said
Chichikov
.
"
Indeed
,
nowhere
in
Russia
have
I
met
with
a
man
of
equal
intellect
.
"
Kostanzhoglo
smiled
,
while
realising
that
the
compliment
was
scarcely
deserved
.
"
If
you
want
a
man
of
GENUINE
intellect
,
"
he
said
,
"
I
can
tell
you
of
one
.
He
is
a
man
whose
boot
soles
are
worth
more
than
my
whole
body
.
"
