Mayakin and his godson wended
their way toward this group. He whispered to Foma:
"Lose no courage, these people have robbed their bellies to cover
themselves with silk."
And he greeted the governor before the bishop, in a respectfully
cheerful voice.
"How do you do, your Excellency? Give me your blessing, your
Holiness!"
"Ah, Yakov Tarasovich!" exclaimed the governor with a friendly smile,
shaking and squeezing Mayakin's hand, while the old man was at the
same time kissing the bishop's hand. "How are you, deathless old man?"
"I thank you humbly, your Excellency! My respects to Sophya Pavlovna!"
Mayakin spoke fast, whirling like a peg-top amid the crowd of people.
In a minute he managed to shake hands with the presiding justice of
the court, with the prosecutor, with the mayor--in a word, with all
those people whom he considered it necessary to greet first; such as
these, however, were few. He jested, smiled and at once attracted
everybody's attention to his little figure, and Foma with downcast
head stood behind him, looking askance at these people wrapped in
costly stuffs, embroidered with gold; he envied the old man's
adroitness and lost his courage, and feeling that he was losing his
courage--he grew still more timid.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204