over you. It is very inconvenient to fool with me."

Mayakin spoke gently. The wrinkles of his cheeks all rose upward, and
his small eyes in their dark sockets were smiling sarcastically, coldly.
And the wrinkles on his forehead formed an odd pattern, rising up to his
bald crown. His face was stern and merciless, and breathed melancholy
and coldness upon Foma's soul.

"So there's no way out for me?" asked Foma, gloomily. "You are blocking
all my ways?"

"There is a way. Go there! I shall guide you. Don't worry, it will be
right! You will come just to your proper place."

This self-confidence, this unshakable boastfulness aroused Foma's
indignation. Thrusting his hands into his pockets in order not to strike
the old man, he straightened himself in his chair and clinching his
teeth, said, facing Mayakin closely:

"Why are you boasting? What are you boasting of? Your own son, where is
he? Your daughter, what is she? Eh, you--you life-builder! Well, you are
clever. You know everything. Tell me, what for do you live? What for
are you accumulating money? Do you think you are not going to die? Well,
what then? You've captured me. You've taken hold of me, you've conquered
me. But wait, I may yet tear myself away from you! It isn't the end yet!
Eh, you! What have you done for life? By what will you be remembered?
My father, for instance, donated a lodging-house, and you--what have you
done?"

Mayakin's wrinkles quivered and sank downward, wherefore his face
assumed a sickly, weeping expression.

"How will you justify yourself?" asked Foma, softly, without lifting his
eyes from him.

"Hold your tongue, you puppy!" said the old man in a low voice, casting
a glance of alarm about the room.

"I've said everything! And now I'm going! Hold me back!"

Foma rose from his chair, thrust his cap on his head, and measured the
old man with abhorrence.

"You may go; but I'll--I'll catch you! It will come out as I say!" said
Yakov Tarasovich in a broken voice.

"And I'll go on a spree! I'll squander all!"

"Very well, we'll see!"

"Goodbye! you hero," Foma laughed.

"Goodbye, for a short while! I'll not go back on my own. I love it. I
love you, too. Never mind, you're a good fellow!" said Mayakin, softly,
and as though out of breath.

"Do not love me, but teach me. But then, you cannot teach me the right
thing!" said Foma, as he turned his back on the old man and left the
hall.

Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin remained in the t