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Kiss, Foma, kiss him--he is
given over to the grave, covered with a stone. He is settling
down in darkness, and is buried with the dead."
Foma touched his father's forehead with his lips and sprang back
from the coffin with horror.
"Hold your peace! You nearly knocked me down," Mayakin remarked
to him, in a low voice, and these simple, calm words supported
Foma better than his godfather's hands.
"Ye that behold me mute and lifeless before you, weep for me,
brethren and friends," begged Ignat through the mouth of the
Church. But his son was not crying any longer; his horror was
called forth by the black, swollen face of his father, and this
horror somewhat sobered his soul, which had been intoxicated by
the mournful music of the Church's lament for its sinful son. He
was surrounded by acquaintances, who were kindly consoling him;
he listened to them and understood that they all felt sorry for
him and that he became dear to them. And his godfather whispered
in his ear:
"See, how they all fawn upon you. The tom-cats have smelt the fat.


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