and left the
hall.

After awhile he breathed freely and, sitting in his cab, thought sadly
that there was no place for him amid these people. Inwardly, he called
them polished. He did not like their brilliancy, their faces, their
smiles or their words, but the freedom and the cleverness of their
movements, their ability to speak much and on any subject, their pretty
costumes--all this aroused in him a mixture of envy and respect for
them. He felt sad and oppressed at the consciousness of being unable to
talk so much and so fluently as all these people, and here he recalled
that Luba Mayakina had more than once scoffed at him on this account.

Foma did not like Mayakin's daughter, and since he had learned from his
father of Mayakin's intention to marry him to Luba, the young Gordyeeff
began to shun her. But after his father's death he was almost every day
at the Mayakins, and somehow Luba said to him one day:

"I am looking at you, and, do you know?--you do not resemble a merchant
at all."

"Nor do you look like a merchant's daughter," said Foma, and looked at
her suspiciously. He did not understand the meaning of her words; did
she mean to offend him, or did she say these words without any kind
thoughts?

"Thank God for this!" said she and smiled to him a kind, friendly smile.

"What makes you so glad?" he asked.

"The fact that we don't resemble our fathers."

Foma glanced at her in astonishment and kept silent.

"Tell me frankly," said she, lowering her voice, "you do not love my
father, do you? You don't like him?"

"Not very much," said Foma, slowly.

"And I dislike him very much."

"What for?"

"For everything. When you grow wiser, you will know it yourself. Your
father was a better man."

"Of course!" said Foma, proudly.

After this conversation an attachment sprang up between them almost
immediately, and growing stronger from day to day, it soon developed
into friendship, though a somewhat odd friendship it was.

Though Luba was not older than her god-brother, she nevertheless treated
him as an older person would treat a little boy. She spoke to him
condescendingly, often jesting at his expense; her talk was always full
of words which were unfamiliar to Foma; and she pronounced these
words with particular emphasis and with evident satisfaction. She was
especially fond of speaking about her brother Taras, whom she had never
seen, but of whom she was telling such stories as would make him look