“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.
He recalled the old man’s words about sin, thought of the power of his faith in the mercy of the Lord, and the old man aroused in Foma a feeling akin to respect.
“He, too, speaks of life; he knows his sins; but does not weep over them, does not complain of them. He has sinned—and he is willing to stand the consequences. Yes. And she?” He recalled Medinskaya, and his heart contracted with pain.
“And she is repenting. It is hard to tell whether she does it purposely, in order to hide from justice, or whether her heart is really aching. ‘Who, but the Lord,’ says he, ‘is to judge me?’ That’s how it is.”
It seemed to Foma that he envied Anany, and the youth hastened to recall Shchurov’s attempts to swindle him. This called forth in him an aversion for the old man He could not reconcile his feelings and, perplexed, he smiled.
“Well, I have just been at Shchurov’s,” he said, coming to Mayakin and seating himself by the table.
Mayakin, in a greasy morning-gown, a counting-board in his hand, began to move about in his leather-covered arm-chair impatiently, and said with animation:
“Pour out some tea for him, Lubava! Tell me, Foma, I must be in the City Council at nine o’clock; tell me all about it, make haste!”
Smiling, Foma related to him how Shchurov suggested to rewrite the notes.