Chichikov again attempted to show it to him, but, with a movement of his head, Ivan Antonovitch signified that that was unnecessary.
"A clerk," he added, "will now conduct you to Ivan Grigorievitch's room." Upon that one of the toilers in the service of Themis--a zealot who had offered her such heartfelt sacrifice that his coat had burst at the elbows and lacked a lining--escorted our friends (even as Virgil had once escorted Dante) to the apartment of the Presence.

In this sanctum were some massive armchairs, a table laden with two or three fat books, and a large looking-glass.

Lastly, in (apparently) sunlike isolation, there was seated at the table the President.

On arriving at the door of the apartment, our modern Virgil seemed to have become so overwhelmed with awe that, without daring even to intrude a foot, he turned back, and, in so doing, once more exhibited a back as shiny as a mat, and having adhering to it, in one spot, a chicken's feather.

As soon as the two friends had entered the hall of the Presence they perceived that the President was NOT alone, but, on the contrary, had seated by his side Sobakevitch, whose form had hitherto been concealed by the intervening mirror.