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If all people only hated him, even as Lubov hated him now, he would feel more at ease in their midst, he thought. Then he would know how to behave with them, would find something to say to them. While now he could not understand whether they were pitying him or whether they were laughing at him, because he had lost his way and could not conform himself to anything.
Now, my mother who, as you will see, is a noble, sensible woman has known Lubov Sergievna, for many years; yet even to this day she does not properly understand her. Shall I tell you why I was out of temper last evening when you were questioning me? Well, Lubov is extremely religious, and understands Ivan Yakovlevitch to the full.
"Yes," the girl drawled out thoughtfully, "that shows that you love her. I would also be like this. If I loved, I would think of him of what he might say..." "And everything about her is so peculiar," Foma related softly. "She speaks in a way all her own. And, God! How beautiful she is! And then she is so small, like a child." "And what took place between you?" asked Lubov.
Lubov wrote Taras another letter, but this time it was shorter and more reserved, and now she awaited a reply from day to day, attempting to picture to herself what sort of man he must be, this mysterious brother of hers.
Just put the thumb-screw on him! And do it well!" Smolin again cast at Lubov a smiling glance, and her heart trembled with joy once more. With flushing face she said to her father, inwardly addressing herself to the bridegroom: "As far as I can understand, African Dmitreivich, he wishes to buy the newspaper not at all for the sake of stopping its mouth as you say."
Foma had answered. "So. Well, and meanwhile, before you go to the monastery, come along with me! Get ready quickly. Rub your phiz with something wet, for it is very much swollen. Sprinkle yourself with cologne, get it from Lubov, to drive away the smell of the kabak. Go ahead!"
The old man was choking with agitation and with flashing eyes looked at his daughter so furiously as though Foma were sitting in her place. His agitation frightened Lubov, but she lacked the courage to interrupt her father, and she looked at his stern and gloomy face in silence. "The road has been paved by our fathers, and you must walk on it. I have worked for fifty years to what purpose?
And now, let's eat something, after the Russian fashion." "How are you passing the time, Lubov Yakovlevna?" asked Smolin, arming himself with knife and fork. "She is rather lonesome here with me," replied Mayakin for his daughter. "My housekeeper, all the household is on her shoulders, so she has no time to amuse herself." "And no place, I must add," said Lubov.
How can it be?" he thought to himself, after hearing her answer. The president was going to continue his questions, but the member with the spectacles interrupted him, angrily whispering something. The president nodded, and turned again to the prisoner. "How is this," he said, "you are not put down here as Lubov?" The prisoner remained silent. "I want your real name."
Perhaps, I might have made a man of him." Lubov looked at her father, smiled inimically, and asked hotly: "And isn't he who writes for newspapers a man?" For a long while, the old man did not answer his daughter. Thoughtfully, he drummed with his fingers against the table and examined his face, which was reflected in the brightly polished brass of the samovar.
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