en
you may shout for joy. Goodbye. Have all the money for tomorrow."

"Don't let that trouble you. Goodbye!"

"God be with you!"

When Foma came out of the room he heard that the old man gave a slow,
loud yawn, and then began to hum in a rather hoarse bass:

"Open for us the doors of mercy. Oh blessed Virgin Mary!"

Foma carried away with him from the old man a double feeling. Shchurov
pleased him and at the same time was repulsive to him.

He recalled the old man's words about sin, thought of the power of
his faith in the mercy of the Lord, and the old man aroused in Foma a
feeling akin to respect.

"He, too, speaks of life; he knows his sins; but does not weep over
them, does not complain of them. He has sinned--and he is willing to
stand the consequences. Yes. And she?" He recalled Medinskaya, and his
heart contracted with pain.

"And she is repenting. It is hard to tell whether she does it purposely,
in order to hide from justice, or whether her heart is really aching.
'Who, but the Lord,' says he, 'is to judge me?' That's how it is."

It seemed to Foma that he envied Anany, and the youth hastened to recall
Shchurov's attempts to swindle him. This called forth in him an aversion
for the old man He could not reconcile his feelings and, perplexed, he
smiled.

"Well, I have just been at Shchurov's," he said, coming to Mayakin and
seating himself by the table.

Mayakin, in a greasy morning-gown, a counting-board in his hand, began
to move about in his leather-covered arm-chair impatiently, and said
with animation:

"Pour out some tea for him, Lubava! Tell me, Foma, I must be in the City
Council at nine o'clock; tell me all about it, make haste!"

Smiling, Foma related to him how Shchurov suggested to rewrite the
notes.

"Eh!" exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich regretfully, with a shake of the
head. "You've spoilt the whole mass for me, dear! How could you be so
straightforward in your dealings with the man? Psha! The devil drove me
to send you there! I should have gone myself. I would have turned him
around my finger!"

"Hardly! He says, 'I am an oak.'"

"An oak? And I am a saw. An oak! An oak is a good tree, but its fruits
are good for swine only. So it comes out that an oak is simply a
blockhead."

"But it's all the same, we have to pay, anyway."

"Clever people are in no hurry about this; while you are ready to run as
fast as you can to pay the money. What a merchant you are!"

Yakov Tarasovich was