"Eh, what good people! The Lord's fools, what! Those were dear, true flowers of the Russian soil, real God-loving ones."
I did not understand this praise and his joy looked strange to me, but he could hardly walk from laughter. He stopped, threw his head back and shouted and called straight up to heaven, as if he had a friend there with whom he wished to share his joy. I said to him kindly:
"You resemble Savelko somewhat."
"Resemble!" he cried. "It is always good," he said, "to resemble some one. Eh, dear boy, if only the orthodox church had not ruined us ages ago, how different it would be for the living ones on the Russian soil now."
His speech was dark to me.
I told him about Titoff. He seemed to see my father-in-law before his eyes and he expressed himself freely about him.
"Such a rascal! I have seen many such. They are rapacious bugs, but foolish and cowardly."
When he heard my story about Anthony, he became thoughtful and then said:
"So, that was a doubting Thomas. Well, not every Thomas is a genius. Some of them are stupidity itself."
He drove a bumble-bee from him and lectured it. "Go away, go away from here. Such impoliteness, to fly straight into the eyes. The devil take you!"