himself at least for a short while. But his thoughts took
a firmer hold on him.

"That sailor there, he tore himself away, and he's safe and sound! Yes,
while I--"

In the evening he again went up to the Mayakins. The old man was not at
home, and in the dining-room sat Lubov with her brother, drinking tea.
On reaching the door Foma heard the hoarse voice of Taras:

"What makes father bother himself about him?"

At the sight of Foma he stopped short, staring at his face with a
serious, searching look. An expression of agitation was clearly depicted
on Lubov's face, and she said with dissatisfaction and at the same time
apologetically:

"Ah! So it's you?"

"They've been speaking of me," thought Foma, as he seated himself at
the table. Taras turned his eyes away from him and sank deeper in the
armchair. There was an awkward silence lasting for about a minute, and
this pleased Foma.

"Are you going to the banquet?"

"What banquet?"

"Don't you know? Kononov is going to consecrate his new steamer. A mass
will be held there and then they are going to take a trip up the Volga."

"I was not invited," said Foma.

"Nobody was invited. He simply announced on the Exchange: 'Anybody who
wishes to honour me is welcome!

"I don't care for it."

"Yes? But there will be a grand drinking bout," said Lubov, looking at
him askance.

"I can drink at my own expense if I choose to do so."

"I know," said Lubov, nodding her head expressively.

Taras toyed with his teaspoon, turning it between his fingers and
looking at them askance.

"And where's my godfather?" asked Foma.

"He went to the bank. There's a meeting of the board of directors today.
Election of officers is to take place.

"They'll elect him again."

"Of course."

And again the conversation broke off. Foma began to watch the brother
and the sister. Having dropped the spoon, Taras slowly drank his tea in
big sips, and silently moving the glass over to his sister, smiled to
her. She, too, smiled joyously and happily, seized the glass and began
to rinse it assiduously. Then her face assumed a strained expression;
she seemed to prepare herself for something and asked her brother in a
low voice, almost reverently:

"Shall we return to the beginning of our conversation?"

"If you please," assented Taras, shortly.

"You said something, but I didn't understand. What was it? I asked: 'If
all this is, as you say, Utopia, if it is impossible, dreams, then what