Certainly Chichikov was a thorough coward, for, although the britchka pursued its headlong course until Nozdrev's establishment had disappeared behind hillocks and hedgerows, our hero continued to glance nervously behind him, as though every moment expecting to see a stern chase begin.

His breath came with difficulty, and when he tried his heart with his hands he could feel it fluttering like a quail caught in a net.
"What a sweat the fellow has thrown me into!" he thought to himself, while many a dire and forceful aspiration passed through his mind.
Indeed, the expressions to which he gave vent were most inelegant in their nature.

But what was to be done next?
He was a Russian and thoroughly aroused.

The affair had been no joke.

"But for the Superintendent," he reflected, "I might never again have looked upon God's daylight--I might have vanished like a bubble on a pool, and left neither trace nor posterity nor property nor an honourable name for my future offspring to inherit!" (it seemed that our hero was particularly anxious with regard to his possible issue).
"What a scurvy barin!" mused Selifan as he drove along.