The old
man did not give Foma the vodka at once. First he surveyed him
fixedly, then he slowly poured out a wine glassful, and finally,
without saying a word, raised it to Foma's lips. Foma drank the
vodka, and asked:
"Some more!"
"That's enough!" replied Mayakin.
And immediately after this there fell a minute of perfect,
painful silence. People were coming up to the table noiselessly,
on tiptoe, and when they were near they stretched their necks to
see Foma.
"Well, Fomka, do you understand now what you have done?" asked
Mayakin. He spoke softly, but all heard his question.
Foma nodded his head and maintained silence.
"There's no forgiveness for you!" Mayakin went on firmly, and
raising his voice. "Though we are all Christians, yet you will
receive no forgiveness at our hands. Just know this."
Foma lifted his head and said pensively:
"I have quite forgotten about you, godfather. You have not heard
anything from me."
"There you have it!" exclaimed Mayakin, bitterly, pointing at his
godson. "You see?"
A dull grumble of protest burst forth.
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