l, since each one wants to be
above the other? Even the beggar has his pride and always boasts of
something or other before other people. A small child, even he wants to
be first among his playmates. And one man will never yield to another;
only fools believe in it. Each man has his own soul, and his own face;
only those who love not their souls and care not for their faces can
be planed down to the same size. Eh, you! You've read much trash, and
you've devoured it!"

Bitter reproach and biting contempt were expressed on the old man's
face. He noisily pushed his chair away from the table, jumped up, and
folding his hands behind his back, began to dart about in the room with
short steps, shaking his head and saying something to himself in an
angry, hissing whisper. Lubov, pale with emotion and anger, feeling
herself stupid and powerless before him, listening to his whisper, and
her heart palpitated wildly.

"I am left alone, alone, like Job. Oh Lord! What shall I do? Oh, alone!
Am I not wise? Am I not clever? But life has outwitted me also. What
does it love? Whom does it fondle? It beats the good, and suffers not
the bad to go unpunished, and no one understands life's justice."

The girl began to feel painfully sorry for the old man; she was seized
with an intense yearning to help him; she longed to be of use to him.

Following him with burning eyes, she suddenly said in a low voice:

"Papa, dear! do not grieve. Taras is still alive. Perhaps he--"

Mayakin stopped suddenly as though nailed to the spot, and he slowly
lifted his head.

"The tree that grew crooked in its youth and could not hold out will
certainly break when it's old. But nevertheless, even Taras is a straw
to me now. Though I doubt whether he is better than Foma. Gordyeeff has
a character, he has his father's daring. He can take a great deal on
himself. But Taraska, you recalled him just in time. Yes!"

And the old man, who a moment ago had lost his courage to the point of
complaining, and, grief-stricken had run about the room like a mouse
in a trap, now calmly and firmly walked up with a careworn face to the
table, carefully adjusted his chair, and seated himself, saying:

"We'll have to sound Taraska. He lives in Usolye at some factory. I was
told by some merchants--they're making soda there, I believe. I'll find
out the particulars. I'll write to him."

"Allow me to write to him, papa!" begged Lubov, softly, flushing,
trembling with joy.