“I am delighted with the speech you made yesterday in the city hall! Beautiful, clever, Yakov Tarasovich. Proposing to use the money for this public club, they do not understand the real needs of the population.”
“And then, your Excellency, a small capital means that the city will have to add its own money.”
“Perfectly true! Perfectly true!”
“Temperance, I say, is good! Would to God that all were sober! I don’t drink, either, but what is the use of these performances, libraries and all that, since the people cannot even read?”
The governor replied approvingly.
“Here, I say, you better use this money for a technical institution. If it should be established on a small plan, this money alone will suffice, and in case it shouldn’t, we can ask for more in St. Petersburg—they’ll give it to us. Then the city wouldn’t have to add of its own money, and the whole affair would be more sensible.”
“Precisely! I fully agree with you! But how the liberals began to cry at you! Eh? Ha, ha!”
“That has always been their business, to cry.”
The deep cough of the archdeacon of the cathedral announced the beginning of the divine service.
Sophya Pavlovna came up to Foma, greeted him and said in a sad, low voice: