Yet, though Selifan replied, "Very well, Paul Ivanovitch," he hesitated awhile by the door.
Next, Chichikov bid Petrushka get out the dusty portmanteau from under the bed, and then set to work to cram into it, pell-mell, socks, shirts, collars (both clean and dirty), boot trees, a calendar, and a variety of other articles.

Everything went into the receptacle just as it came to hand, since his one object was to obviate any possible delay in the morning's departure.

Meanwhile the reluctant Selifan slowly, very slowly, left the room, as slowly descended the staircase (on each separate step of which he left a muddy foot-print), and, finally, halted to scratch his head.

What that scratching may have meant no one could say; for, with the Russian populace, such a scratching may mean any one of a hundred things..