Chichikov turned as white as a sheet.

He tried to say something, but his quivering lips emitted no sound.

"Thrash him!" again shouted Nozdrev as he rushed forward in a state of heat and perspiration more proper to a warrior who is attacking an impregnable fortress.

"Thrash him!" again he shouted in a voice like that of some half-demented lieutenant whose desperate bravery has acquired such a reputation that orders have had to be issued that his hands shall be held lest he attempt deeds of over-presumptuous daring.

Seized with the military spirit, however, the lieutenant's head begins to whirl, and before his eye there flits the image of Suvorov [21].