It was—­it is difficult to say precisely on what day, but probably the most glorious one in Akaky Akakiyevich’s life, when Petrovich at length brought home the cloak.  He brought it in the morning, before the hour when it was necessary to start for the department.  Never did a cloak arrive so exactly in the nick of time, for the severe cold had set in, and it seemed to threaten to increase.  Petrovich brought the cloak himself as befits a good tailor.  On his countenance was a significant expression, such as Akaky; Akakiyevich had never beheld there.  He seemed fully sensible that he had done no small deed, and crossed a gulf separating tailors who put in linings, and execute repairs, from those who make new things.  He took the cloak out of the pocket-handkerchief in which he had brought it.  The handkerchief was fresh from the laundress, and he put it in his pocket for use.  Taking out the cloak, he gazed proudly at it, held it up with both hands, and flung it skilfully over the shoulders of Akaky Akakiyevich.  Then he pulled it and fitted it down behind with his hand, and he draped it around Akaky Akakiyevich without buttoning it.  Akaky Akakiyevich, like an experienced man, wished to try the sleeves.  Petrovich helped him on with them, and it turned out that the sleeves were satisfactory also.  In short, the cloak appeared to be perfect, and most seasonable.  Petrovich did not neglect to observe that it was only because he lived in a narrow street, and had no signboard, and had known Akaky Akakiyevich so long, that he had made it so cheaply; but that if he had been in business on the Nevsky Prospect, he would have charged seventy-five rubles for the making alone.  Akaky Akakiyevich did not care to argue this point with Petrovich.  He paid him, thanked him, and set out at once in his new cloak for the department.  Petrovich followed him, and pausing in the street, gazed long at the cloak in the distance, after which he went to one side expressly to run through a crooked alley, and emerge again into the street beyond to gaze once more upon the cloak from another point, namely, directly in front.

Meantime Akaky Akakiyevich went on in holiday mood.  He was conscious every second of the time that he had a new cloak on his shoulders, and several times he laughed with internal satisfaction.  In fact, there were two advantages, one was its warmth, the other its beauty.  He saw nothing of the road, but suddenly found himself at the department.  He took off his cloak in the ante-room, looked it over carefully, and confided it to the special care of the attendant.  It is impossible to say precisely how it was that every one in the department knew at once that Akaky Akakiyevich had a new cloak, and that the “cape” no longer existed.  All rushed at the same moment into the ante-room to inspect it.  They congratulated him, and said pleasant things to him, so that he began at first to smile, and then to grow ashamed.  When all surrounded him, and said that the new cloak must be “christened,” and that he must at least give them all a party, Akaky Akakiyevich lost his head completely, and did not know where he stood, what to answer, or how to get out of it.  He stood blushing all over for several minutes, trying to assure them with great simplicity that it was not a new cloak, that it was in fact the old “cape.”