clock and
the cupboard seemed to have grown in size. The huge pendulum peeped
out every moment from beneath the glass of the clock-case, and flashing
dimly, was hiding with a weary sound now on the right side, now on
the left. Foma looked at the pendulum and he began to feel awkward and
lonesome. Luba arose and lighted the lamp which was hanging over the
table. The girl's face was pale and stern.

"You went for me," said Foma, reservedly. "What for? I can't
understand."

"I don't want to speak to you!" replied Luba, angrily.

"That's your affair. But nevertheless, what wrong have I done to you?"

"You?

"I."

"Understand me, I am suffocating! It is close here. Is this life? Is
this the way how to live? What am I? I am a hanger-on in my father's
house. They keep me here as a housekeeper. Then they'll marry me! Again
housekeeping. It's a swamp. I am drowning, suffocating."

"And what have I to do with it?" asked Foma.

"You are no better than the others."

"And therefore I am guilty before you?"

"Yes, guilty! You must desire to be better."

"But do I not wish it?" exclaimed Foma.

The girl was about to tell him something, but at this time the bell
began to ring somewhere, and she said in a low voice, leaning back in
her chair:

"It's father."

"I would not feel sorry if he stayed away a little longer," said Foma.
"I wish I could listen to you some more. You speak so very oddly."

"Ah! my children, my doves!" exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich, appearing in
the doorway. "You're drinking tea? Pour out some tea for me, Lugava!"

Sweetly smiling, and rubbing his hands, he sat down near Foma and asked,
playfully jostling him in the side:

"What have you been cooing about?"

"So--about different trifles," answered Luba.

"I haven't asked you, have I?" said her father to her, with a grimace.
"You just sit there, hold your tongue, and mind your woman's affairs."

"I've been telling her about the dinner," Foma interrupted his
godfather's words.

"Aha! So-o-o. Well, then, I'll also speak about the dinner. I have been
watching you of late. You don't behave yourself sensibly!"

"What do you mean?" asked Foma, knitting his brow, ill pleased.

"I just mean that your behaviour is preposterous, and that's all. When
the governor, for instance, speaks to you, you keep quiet."

"What should I tell him? He says that it is a misfortune to lose a
father. Well, I know it. What could I tell him?"

"But as the Lord will