d
then the devil will fleece you, ha, ha! It is good to be a rascal with a
pious face like yours! Whom did you kill then, Lup?"

Foma spoke, interrupting his speech with loud, malevolent laughter, and
saw that his words were producing an impression on these people. Before,
when he had spoken to all of them they turned away from him, stepping
aside, forming groups, and looking at their accuser from afar with
anger and contempt. He saw smiles on their faces, he felt in their every
movement something scornful, and understood that while his words angered
them they did not sting as deep as he wished them to. All this had
chilled his wrath, and within him there was already arising the bitter
consciousness of the failure of his attack on them. But as soon as he
began to speak of each one separately, there was a swift and striking
change in the relation of his hearers toward him.

When Kononov sank heavily in the chair, as though he were unable to
withstand the weight of Foma's harsh words, Foma noticed that bitter and
malicious smiles crossed the faces of some of the merchants. He heard
some one's whisper of astonishment and approval:

"That's well aimed!"

This whisper gave strength to Foma, and he confidently and passionately
began to hurl reproaches, jeers and abuses at those who met his eyes.
He growled joyously, seeing that his words were taking effect. He was
listened to silently, attentively; several men moved closer toward him.

Exclamations of protest were heard, but these were brief, not loud, and
each time Foma shouted some one's name, all became silent, listening,
casting furtive, malicious glances in the direction of their accused
comrade.

Bobrov laughed perplexedly, but his small eyes bored into Foma as
gimlets. And Lup Reznikov, waving his hands, hopped about awkwardly and,
short of breath, said:

"Be my witnesses. What's this! No-o! I will not forgive this! I'll go
to court. What's that?" and suddenly he screamed in a shrill voice,
out-stretching his hand toward Foma:

"Bind him!"

Foma was laughing.

"You cannot bind the truth, you can't do it! Even bound, truth will not
grow dumb!"

"Go-o-od!" drawled out Kononov in a dull, broken voice.

"See here, gentlemen of the merchant class!" rang out Mayakin's voice.
"I ask! you to admire him, that's the kind of a fellow he is!"

One after another the merchants moved toward Foma, and on their faces
he saw wrath, curiosity, a malicious feeling of sati