"Yes," said Foma, shortly, without understanding her words and
feeling that he was blushing again.
"They will always be opponents of our commercial interests,"
Mayakin whispered loudly and convincingly, standing beside the
city mayor, not far from Foma. "What is it to them? All they want
is somehow to deserve the approval of the newspaper. But they cannot
reach the main point. They live for mere display, not for the
organisation of life; these are their only measures: the newspapers
and Sweden! [Mayakin speaks of Sweden, meaning Switzerland.--
Translator's note.] The doctor scoffed at me all day yesterday with
this Sweden. The public education, says he, in Sweden, and everything
else there is first-class! But what is Sweden, anyway? It may be that
Sweden is but a fib, is but used as an example, and that there is no
education whatever or any of the other things there. And then, we
don't live for the sake of Sweden, and Sweden cannot put us to test.
We have to make our lip according to our own last. Isn't it so?
And the archdeacon droned, his head thrown back:
"Eternal me-emo-ory to the founder of this ho-ouse!"
Foma shuddered, but Mayakin was already by his side, and pulling
him by the sleeve, asked:
"Are you going to the dinner?"
And Medinskaya's velvet-like, warm little hand glided once more
over Foma's hand.
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