Of course, if you do not know your business I can easily ask some one else." To this the tchinovniks made no reply beyond pointing towards a corner of the room where an elderly man appeared to be engaged in sorting some papers.

Accordingly Chichikov and Manilov threaded their way in his direction through the desks; whereupon the elderly man became violently busy.
"Would you mind telling me," said Chichikov, bowing, "whether this is the desk for serf affairs ?" The elderly man raised his eyes, and said stiffly: "This is NOT the desk for serf affairs." "Where is it, then ?" "In the Serf Department." "And where might the Serf Department be ?" "In charge of Ivan Antonovitch." "And where is Ivan Antonovitch ?" The elderly man pointed to another corner of the room; whither Chichikov and Manilov next directed their steps.

As they advanced, Ivan Antonovitch cast an eye backwards and viewed them askance.

Then, with renewed ardour, he resumed his work of writing.
"Would you mind telling me," said Chichikov, bowing, "whether this is the desk for serf affairs ?" It appeared as though Ivan Antonovitch had not heard, so completely did he bury himself in his papers and return no reply.

Instantly it became plain that HE at least was of an age of discretion, and not one of your jejune chatterboxes and harum-scarums; for, although his hair was still thick and black, he had long ago passed his fortieth year.