He must be better than others, he
resolved, and the ambition, kindled by the old man, took deep
root in his heart. It took root within his heart, but did not
fill it up, for Foma's relations toward Medinskaya assumed that
character, which they were bound to assume. He longed for her, he
always yearned to see her; while in her presence he became timid,
awkward and stupid; he knew it and suffered on this account. He
frequently visited her, but it was hard to find her at home alone;
perfumed dandies like flies over a piece of sugar--were always
flitting about her. They spoke to her in French, sang and laughed,
while he looked at them in silence, tortured by anger and jealousy.
His legs crossed, he sat somewhere in a corner of her richly furnished
drawing-room, where it was extremely difficult to walk without
overturning or at least striking against something--Foma sat and
watched them sternly.
Over the soft rugs she was noiselessly passing hither and thither,
casting to him kind glances and smiles, while her admirers were
fawning upon her, and they all, like serpents, were cleverly gliding
by the various little tables, chairs, screens, flower-stands--a
storehouse full of beautiful and frail things, scattered about the
room with a carelessness equally dangerous to them and to Foma.
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