“Sonka Medinskaya, the architect’s wife.”
“Great God! Is it possible that she—Did my father—Is it possible that he took her as his sweetheart?” asked Foma, with astonishment, in a low voice.
His godfather drew back from him, and comically opening his eyes wide, said convincedly:
“You are out of your mind, too! By God, you’re out of your mind! Come to your senses! A sweetheart at the age of sixty-three! And at such a price as this. What are you talking about? Well, I’ll tell this to Ignat.”
And Mayakin filled the air with a jarring, hasty laughter, at which his goat-like beard began to tremble in an uncomely manner. It took Foma a long time to obtain a categorical answer; the old man, contrary to his habit, was restless and irritated; his speech, usually fluent, was now interrupted; he was swearing and expectorating as he spoke, and it was with difficulty that Foma learned what the matter was. Sophya Pavlovna Medinskaya, the wealthy architect’s wife, who was well known in the city for her tireless efforts in the line of arranging various charitable projects, persuaded Ignat to endow seventy-five thousand roubles for the erection of a lodging-house in the city and of a public library with a reading-room. Ignat had given the money, and already the newspapers lauded him for his generosity. Foma had seen the woman more than once on the streets; she was short; he knew that she was considered as one of the most beautiful women in the city, and that bad rumours were afoot as to her behaviour.
“Is that all?” exclaimed Foma, when his godfather concluded the story. “And I thought God knows what!”
“You? You thought?” cried Mayakin, suddenly grown angry. “You thought nothing, you beardless youngster!”
“Why do you abuse me?” Foma said.
“Tell me, in your opinion, is seventy-five thousand roubles a big sum or not?”
“Yes, a big sum,” said Foma, after a moment’s thought.