lopping on the ground, and then you see his heart is
broken. That's how it is, my dear man."

Foma closed his eyes, as if a ray of the sun had fallen full on them,
and shaking his head, he said aloud:

"True! That is true!"

The companions looked at him fixedly: the old man, with a fine, wise
smile; the large-eyed man, unfriendly, askance. This confused Foma; he
blushed and walked away, thinking of Fate and wondering why it had first
treated him kindly by giving him a woman, and then took back the gift
from him, so simply and abusively? And he now understood that the vague,
caustic feeling which he carried within him was a grudge against Fate
for thus sporting with him. He had been too much spoiled by life, to
regard more plainly the first drop of poison from the cup which was
just started, and he passed all the time of the journey without sleep,
pondering over the old man's words and fondling his grudge. This grudge,
however, did not awaken in him despondency and sorrow, but rather a
feeling of anger and revenge.

Foma was met by his godfather, and to his hasty and agitated question,
Mayakin, his greenish little eyes flashing excitedly, said when he
seated himself in the carriage beside his godson:

"Your father has grown childish."

"Drinking?"

"Worse--he has lost his mind completely."

"Really? Oh Lord! Tell me."

"Don't you understand? A certain lady is always around him."

"What about her?" exclaimed Foma, recalling his Pelageya, and for some
reason or other his heart was filled with joy.

"She sticks to him and--bleeds him."

"Is she a quiet one?"

"She? Quiet as a fire. Seventy-five thousand roubles she blew out of his
pocket like a feather!"

"Oh! Who is she?"

"Sonka Medinskaya, the architect's wife."

"Great God! Is it possible that she--Did my father--Is it possible that
he took her as his sweetheart?" asked Foma, with astonishment, in a low
voice.

His godfather drew back from him, and comically opening his eyes wide,
said convincedly:

"You are out of your mind, too! By God, you're out of your mind! Come to
your senses! A sweetheart at the age of sixty-three! And at such a price
as this. What are you talking about? Well, I'll tell this to Ignat."

And Mayakin filled the air with a jarring, hasty laughter, at which his
goat-like beard began to tremble in an uncomely manner. It took Foma a
long time to obtain a categorical answer; the old man, contrary to his
habit, was restless and