But we have totally neglected that certain prominent personage who may really be considered as the cause of the fantastic turn taken by this true history.  First of all, justice compels us to say, that after the departure of poor, annihilated Akaky Akakiyevich, he felt something like remorse.  Suffering was unpleasant to him, for his heart was accessible to many good impulses, in spite of the fact that his rank often prevented his showing his true self.  As soon as his friend had left his cabinet, he began to think about poor Akaky Akakiyevich.  And from that day forth, poor Akaky Akakiyevich, who could not bear up under an official reprimand, recurred to his mind almost every day.  The thought troubled him to such an extent, that a week later he even resolved to send an official to him, to learn whether he really could assist him.  And when it was reported to him that Akaky Akakiyevich had died suddenly of fever, he was startled, hearkened to the reproaches of his conscience, and was out of sorts for the whole day.

Wishing to divert his mind in some way and drive away the disagreeable impression, he set out that evening for one of his friends’ houses, where he found quite a large party assembled.  What was better, nearly every one was of the same rank as himself, so that he need not feel in the least constrained.  This had a marvellous effect upon his mental state.  He grew expansive, made himself agreeable in conversation, in short, he passed a delightful evening After supper he drank a couple of glasses of champagne—­not a bad recipe for cheerfulness, as every one knows.  The champagne inclined him to various adventures, and he determined not to return home, but to go and see a certain well-known lady, of German extraction, Karolina Ivanovna, a lady, it appears, with whom he was on a very friendly footing.

It must be mentioned that the prominent personage was no longer a young man, but a good husband and respected father of a family.  Two sons, one of whom was already in the service, and a good-looking, sixteen-year-old daughter, with a slightly arched but pretty little nose, came every morning to kiss his hand and say, “Bon jour, papa.”  His wife, a still fresh and good-looking woman, first gave him her hand to kiss, and then, reversing the procedure, kissed his.  But the prominent personage, though perfectly satisfied in his domestic relations, considered it stylish to have a friend in another quarter of the city.  This friend was scarcely prettier or younger than his wife; but there are such puzzles in the world, and it is not our place to judge them.  So the important personage descended the stairs, stepped into his sledge, said to the coachman, “To Karolina Ivanovna’s,” and, wrapping himself luxuriously in his warm cloak, found himself in that delightful frame of mind than which a Russian can conceive nothing better, namely, when you think of nothing yourself, yet when the thoughts creep into your mind of their