his head and maintained silence.

"There's no forgiveness for you!" Mayakin went on firmly, and raising
his voice. "Though we are all Christians, yet you will receive no
forgiveness at our hands. Just know this."

Foma lifted his head and said pensively:

"I have quite forgotten about you, godfather. You have not heard
anything from me."

"There you have it!" exclaimed Mayakin, bitterly, pointing at his
godson. "You see?"

A dull grumble of protest burst forth.

"Well, it's all the same!" resumed Foma with a sigh. "It's all the same!
Nothing--no good came out of it anyway."

And again he bent over the table.

"What did you want?" asked Mayakin, sternly.

"What I wanted?" Foma raised his head, looked at the merchants and
smiled. "I wanted--"

"Drunkard! Nasty scamp!"

"I am not drunk!" retorted Foma, morosely. "I have drank only two
glasses. I was perfectly sober."

"Consequently," said Bobrov, "you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he is
insane."

"I?" exclaimed Foma.

But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov leaned
over to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones.

"Guardianship!" Foma's ears caught this one word. "I am in my right
mind!" he said, leaning back in his chair and staring at the merchants
with troubled eyes. "I understand what I wanted. I wanted to speak the
truth. I wanted to accuse you."

He was again seized with emotion, and he suddenly jerked his hands in an
effort to free them.

"Eh! Hold on!" exclaimed Bobrov, seizing him by the shoulders. "Hold
him."

"Well, hold me!" said Foma with sadness and bitterness. "Hold me--what
do you need me for?"

"Sit still!" cried his godfather, sternly.

Foma became silent. He now understood that what he had done was of no
avail, that his words had not staggered the merchants. Here they stood,
surrounding him in a dense throng, and he could not see anything for
them. They were calm, firm, treating him as a drunkard and a turbulent
fellow, and were plotting something against him. He felt himself
pitiful, insignificant, crushed by that dark mass of strong-souled,
clever and sedate people. It seemed to him that a long time had passed
since he had abused them, so long a time that he himself seemed as a
stranger, incapable of comprehending what he had done to these people,
and why he had done it. He even experienced in himself a certain feeling
of offence, which resembled shame at himself in his own eyes. There
was a tickling sen