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Chichikov turned to Nikolasha, whom he found to be a budding man about town, since at first he opened a conversation by stating that, as no good was to be derived from studying at a provincial institution, he and his brother desired to remove, rather, to St. Petersburg, the provinces not being worth living in. "I quite understand," Chichikov thought to himself.
"There, someone has just passed by." "But that was a noise in your stomach, uncle." He laughed and stroked her on the head. "So you say Cousin Nikolasha cuts up dead people?" he asked after a pause. "Yes, he is studying." "And is he kind?" "Oh, yes, he's kind. But he drinks vodka awfully." "And what was it your father died of?"
Instead of galloping over the countryside on frisky cobs, Nikolasha and Aleksasha were engaged in dreaming of Moscow, with its confectioners' shops and the theatres of which a cadet, newly arrived on a visit from the capital, had just been telling them; while their father had his mind full of how best to stuff his guests with yet more food, and Platon was given up to yawning.
And, taking Chichikov by the arm, the host conducted him within, where they were met by a couple of youths. "Let me introduce my two sons, home for their holidays from the Gymnasium ," said Pietukh. "Nikolasha, come and entertain our good visitor, while you, Aleksasha, follow me." And with that the host disappeared.
Only there is one thing: his son, my grandson Nikolasha, did not want to go into the Church; he has gone to the university to be a doctor. He thinks it is better; but who knows! His Holy Will!" "Nikolasha cuts up dead people," said Katya, spilling water over her knees. "Sit still, child," her grandmother observed calmly, and took the glass out of her hand. "Say a prayer, and go on eating."
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