dinner, won't you?" asked Medinskaya.

"Yes."

"And tomorrow at the meeting in my house?"

"Without fail!"

"And perhaps sometime you will drop in, simply on a visit, wouldn't
you?"

"I--I thank you! I'll come!"

"I must thank you for the promise."

They became silent. In the air soared the reverently soft voice of the
bishop, who recited the prayer expressively, outstretching his hand over
the place where the corner-stone of the house was laid:

"May neither the wind, nor water, nor anything else bring harm unto it;
may it be completed in thy benevolence, and free all those that are to
live in it from all kinds of calumny."

"How rich and beautiful our prayers are, are they not?" asked
Medinskaya.

"Yes," said Foma, shortly, without understanding her words and feeling
that he was blushing again.

"They will always be opponents of our commercial interests," Mayakin
whispered loudly and convincingly, standing beside the city mayor, not
far from Foma. "What is it to them? All they want is somehow to deserve
the approval of the newspaper. But they cannot reach the main point.
They live for mere display, not for the organisation of life; these
are their only measures: the newspapers and Sweden! [Mayakin speaks of
Sweden, meaning Switzerland.--Translator's note.] The doctor scoffed at
me all day yesterday with this Sweden. The public education, says he,
in Sweden, and everything else there is first-class! But what is Sweden,
anyway? It may be that Sweden is but a fib, is but used as an example,
and that there is no education whatever or any of the other things
there. And then, we don't live for the sake of Sweden, and Sweden cannot
put us to test. We have to make our lip according to our own last. Isn't
it so?"

And the archdeacon droned, his head thrown back:

"Eternal me-emo-ory to the founder of this ho-ouse!"

Foma shuddered, but Mayakin was already by his side, and pulling him by
the sleeve, asked:

"Are you going to the dinner?"

And Medinskaya's velvet-like, warm little hand glided once more over
Foma's hand.

The dinner was to Foma a real torture. For the first time in his
life among these uniformed people, he saw that they were eating and
speaking--doing everything better than he, and he felt that between him
and Medinskaya, who was seated just opposite him, was a high mountain,
not a table. Beside him sat the secretary of the society of which Foma
had been made an honorary member; he was a y