And Yakov Tarasovich tapped Foma on the chest with his finger and said:

"I do not know him, my own son. He has not opened his soul to me. It
may be that such a difference had grown up between us that not only
an eagle, but the devil himself cannot cross it. Perhaps his blood has
overboiled; that there is not even the scent of the father's blood in
it. But he is a Mayakin! And I can feel it at once! I feel it and say:
'Today thou forgivest Thy servant, Oh Lord!'"

The old man was trembling with the fever of his exultation, and fairly
hopped as he stood before Foma.

"Calm yourself, father!" said Taras, slowly rising from his chair and
walking up to his father. "Why confuse the young man? Come, let us sit
down."

He gave Foma a fleeting smile, and, taking his father by the arm, led
him toward the table.

"I believe in blood," said Yakov Tarasovich; "in hereditary blood.
Therein lies all power! My father, I remember, told me: 'Yashka, you
are my genuine blood!' There. The blood of the Mayakins is thick--it is
transferred from father to father and no woman can ever weaken it. Let
us drink some champagne! Shall we? Very well, then! Tell me more--tell
me about yourself. How is it there in Siberia?"

And again, as though frightened and sobered by some thought, the old
man fixed his searching eyes upon the face of his son. And a few minutes
later the circumstantial but brief replies of his son again aroused in
him a noisy joy. Foma kept on listening and watching, as he sat quietly
in his corner.

"Gold mining, of course, is a solid business," said Taras, calmly, with
importance, "but it is a rather risky operation and one requiring a
large capital. The earth says not a word about what it contains within
it. It is very profitable to deal with foreigners. Dealings with
them, under any circumstances, yield an enormous percentage. That is a
perfectly infallible enterprise. But a weary one, it must be admitted.
It does not require much brains; there is no room in it for an
extraordinary man; a man with great enterprising power cannot develop in
it."

Lubov entered and invited them all into the dining-room. When the
Mayakins stepped out Foma imperceptibly tugged Lubov by the sleeve, and
she remained with him alone, inquiring hastily:

"What is it?"

"Nothing," said Foma, with a smile. "I want to ask you whether you are
glad?"

"Of course I am!" exclaimed Lubov.

"And what about?"

"That is, what do you mean?"