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"Ignat was a terrible sinner, and he died without repentance, taken unawares. He was a great sinner!" "He was not more sinful than others," replied Foma, angrily, offended in his father's behalf. "Than who, for instance?" demanded Shchurov, strictly. "Are there not plenty of sinners?"
And when his mistress-daughter-in-law had passed away, Shchurov took into his house a dumb beggar-girl, who was living with him to this day, and who had recently borne him a dead child. On his way to the hotel, where Anany stayed, Foma involuntarily recalled all this, and felt that Shchurov had become strangely interesting to him.
Since that time Anany began to grow rich. One day his bathhouse burned down, and in the ashes they discovered the corpse of a man with a fractured skull. There was a rumour in the village that Shchurov himself had killed his workman killed and then burned him.
When Foma opened the door and stopped respectfully on the threshold of the small room, whose only window overlooked the rusty roof of the neighbouring house, he noticed that the old Shchurov had just risen from sleep, and sitting on his bed, leaning his hands against it, he stared at the ground; and he was so bent that his long, white beard fell over his knees. But even bent, he was large.
Shchurov also rose from his chair and, without lowering his eyes at Foma's sarcastic look, said, calmly scratching his chest: "That's all right." "Thank you for your kindness." "That's nothing! You don't give me a chance, or I would have shown you my kindness!" said the old man lazily, showing his teeth. "Yes! If one should fall into your hands " "He'd find it warm "
"You will make a poor merchant, if you do not understand the power of money." "Who does understand it?" asked Foma. "I!" said Shchurov, with confidence. "And every clever man. Yashka understands it. Money? That is a great deal, my lad! Just spread it out before you and think, 'What does it contain? Then will you know that all this is human strength, human mind.
Foma stared at his lips and thought that the old man was surely such as he was said to be. "As a boy you looked more like your father," said Shchurov suddenly, and sighed. Then, after a moment's silence, he asked: "Do you remember your father? Do you ever pray for him? You must, you must pray!" he went on, after he heard Foma's brief answer.
"Why Mikhail?" asked the pilgrim. "There was in our town the son of a certain merchant Shchurov, he also went off to the Irgiz. And his name was Mikhail." Foma spoke and fixedly looked at Father Miron; but the latter was as calm as a deaf-mute "I never met such a man. I don't remember, I never met him," said he, thoughtfully. "So you wished to inquire about him?" "Yes."
When Foma came out of the room he heard that the old man gave a slow, loud yawn, and then began to hum in a rather hoarse bass: "Open for us the doors of mercy. Oh blessed Virgin Mary!" Foma carried away with him from the old man a double feeling. Shchurov pleased him and at the same time was repulsive to him.
A rouble is like a good pigeon it goes up in the air, you turn around and see it has brought a whole flock with it into the pigeon-house." "But how can we help paying it now, if he demands it?" "Let him cry and ask for it and you roar but don't give it to him." "I'll go up there soon." Anany Savvich Shchurov was a rich lumber-dealer, had a big saw-mill, built barges and ran rafts.
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