Attired in his holiday clothes, in a long frock coat with medals on his breast, he stood on the threshold with his hands outstretched, clutching at the door posts.

His green little eyes examined Foma, and, feeling their look upon him, Foma raised his head and met them.
"How do you do, my fine gentleman ?" said the old man, shaking his head reproachfully.

"Where has it pleased you to come from, may I ask?
Who has sucked off that fat of yours?
Or is it true that a pig looks for a puddle, and Foma for a place which is worse ?" "Have you no other words for me ?" asked Foma, sternly, looking straight into the old man's face.

And suddenly he noticed that his godfather shuddered, his legs trembled, his eyes began to blink repeatedly, and his hands clutched the door posts with an effort.

Foma advanced toward him, presuming that the old man was feeling ill, but Yakov Tarasovich said in a dull and angry voice: "Stand aside.