surveyed with his eyes the outstretched figure of his
godson, and heaved a deep sigh.

"Well, Foma," he began.

"Order them to unbind me," entreated Foma, softly, in a mournful voice.

"So you can be turbulent again? No, no, you'd better lie this way," his
godfather replied.

"I won't say another word. I swear it by God! Unbind me. I am ashamed!
For Christ's sake. You see I am not drunk. Well, you needn't untie my
hands."

"You swear that you'll not be troublesome?" asked Mayakin.

"Oh Lord! I will not, I will not," moaned Foma.

They untied his feet, but left his hands bound. When he rose, he looked
at them all, and said softly with a pitiful smile:

"You won."

"We always shall!" replied his godfather, smiling sternly.

Foma bent, with his hands tied behind his back, advanced toward the
table silently, without lifting his eyes to anyone. He seemed shorter
in stature and thinner. His dishevelled hair fell on his forehead and
temples; the torn and crumpled bosom of his shirt protruding from under
his vest, and the collar covered his lips. He turned his head to push
the collar down under his chin, and was unable to do it. Then the
gray-headed little old man walked up to him, adjusted what was
necessary, looked into his eyes with a smile and said:

"You must endure it."

Now, in Mayakin's presence, those who had mocked Foma were silent,
looking at the old man questioningly, with curiosity and expectancy.
He was calm but his eyes gleamed in a way not at all becoming to the
occasion, contentedly and brightly.

"Give me some vodka," begged Foma, seating himself at the table, and
leaning his chest against its edge. His bent figure look piteous and
helpless. Around they were talking in whispers, passing this way and
that cautiously. And everyone looked now at him, now at Mayakin, who had
seated himself opposite him. The old man did not give Foma the vodka at
once. First he surveyed him fixedly, then he slowly poured out a wine
glassful, and finally, without saying a word, raised it to Foma's lips.
Foma drank the vodka, and asked:

"Some more!"

"That's enough!" replied Mayakin.

And immediately after this there fell a minute of perfect, painful
silence. People were coming up to the table noiselessly, on tiptoe, and
when they were near they stretched their necks to see Foma.

"Well, Fomka, do you understand now what you have done?" asked Mayakin.
He spoke softly, but all heard his question.

Foma nodded