More, however, Chichikov could not discern, for his eyelids were as heavy as though smeared with treacle.
Presently the lady of the house herself entered--an elderly woman in a sort of nightcap (hastily put on) and a flannel neck wrap.

She belonged to that class of lady landowners who are for ever lamenting failures of the harvest and their losses thereby; to the class who, drooping their heads despondently, are all the while stuffing money into striped purses, which they keep hoarded in the drawers of cupboards.

Into one purse they will stuff rouble pieces, into another half roubles, and into a third tchetvertachki [13], although from their mien you would suppose that the cupboard contained only linen and nightshirts and skeins of wool and the piece of shabby material which is destined--should the old gown become scorched during the baking of holiday cakes and other dainties, or should it fall into pieces of itself--to become converted into a new dress.

But the gown never does get burnt or wear out, for the reason that the lady is too careful; wherefore the piece of shabby material reposes in its unmade-up condition until the priest advises that it be given to the niece of some widowed sister, together with a quantity of other such rubbish.
Chichikov apologised for having disturbed the household with his unexpected arrival.
"Not at all, not at all," replied the lady.

"But in what dreadful weather God has brought you hither! What wind and what rain! You could not help losing your way.