with
contempt and went away, leaving him alone in the garden. Offended and
gloomy, he looked after her, moved his eyebrows and lowering his head,
slowly walked off into the depth of the garden.

He already began to recognise the beauty of solitude and the sweet
poison of contemplation. Oftentimes, during summer evenings, when
everything was coloured by the fiery tints of sunset, kindling the
imagination, an uneasy longing for something incomprehensible penetrated
his breast. Sitting somewhere in a dark corner of the garden or lying
in bed, he conjured up before him the images of the fairy-tale
princesses--they appeared with the face of Luba and of other young
ladies of his acquaintance, noiselessly floating before him in the
twilight and staring into his eyes with enigmatic looks. At times these
visions awakened in him a mighty energy, as though intoxicating him--he
would rise and, straightening his shoulders, inhale the perfumed air
with a full chest; but sometimes these same visions brought to him a
feeling of sadness--he felt like crying, but ashamed of shedding tears,
he restrained himself and never wept in silence. Or suddenly his heart
began to tremble with the desire to express his gratitude to God, to
bow before Him; the words of the prayer flashed through his memory, and
beholding the sky, he whispered them for a long time, one by one, and
his heart grew lighter, breathing into prayer the excess of his power.

The father patiently and carefully introduced him into commercial
circles, took him on the Exchange, told him about his contracts and
enterprises, about his co-associates, described to him how they had made
their way, what fortunes they now possessed, what natures were theirs.
Foma soon mastered it, regarding everything seriously and thoughtfully.

"Our bud is blooming into a blood-red cup-rose!" Mayakin smiled, winking
to Ignat.

And yet, even when Foma was nineteen years old, there was something
childish in him, something naive which distinguished him from the boys
of his age. They were laughing at him, considering him stupid; he kept
away from them, offended by their relations toward him. As for his
father and Mayakin, who were watching him vigilantly, this uncertainty
of Foma's character inspired them with serious apprehensions.

"I cannot understand him!" Ignat would say with contrite heart. "He does
not lead a dissipated life, he does not seem to run after the women,
treats me and you with res