Also, Manilov's delight was such that only his nose and lips remained visible--the eyes completely disappeared.

Afterwards he spent about a quarter of an hour in holding Chichikov's hand and chafing it vigorously.

Lastly, he, in the most pleasant and exquisite terms possible, intimated to his friend that he had just been on his way to embrace Paul Ivanovitch; and upon this followed a compliment of the kind which would more fittingly have been addressed to a lady who was being asked to accord a partner the favour of a dance.

Chichikov had opened his mouth to reply--though even HE felt at a loss how to acknowledge what had just been said--when Manilov cut him short by producing from under his coat a roll of paper tied with red riband.
"What have you there ?" asked Chichikov.
"The list of my souls." "Ah!" And as Chichikov unrolled the document and ran his eye over it he could not but marvel at the elegant neatness with which it had been inscribed.
"It is a beautiful piece of writing," he said.

"In fact, there will be no need to make a copy of it.