Get out of the way." And his face assumed its usual expression.
Foma stepped back and found himself side by side with a rather short, stout man, who bowed to Mayakin, and said in a hoarse voice: "How do you do, papa ?" "How are you, Taras Yakovlich, how are you ?" said the old man, bowing, smiling distractedly, and still clinging to the door posts.
Foma stepped aside in confusion, seated himself in an armchair, and, petrified with curiosity, wide-eyed, began to watch the meeting of father and son.
The father, standing in the doorway, swayed his feeble body, leaning his hands against the door posts, and, with his head bent on one side and eyes half shut, stared at his son in silence.

The son stood about three steps away from him; his head already gray, was lifted high; he knitted his brow and gazed at his father with large dark eyes.

His small, black, pointed beard and his small moustache quivered on his meagre face, with its gristly nose, like that of his father.

And the hat, also, quivered in his hand.

From behind his shoulder Foma saw the pale, frightened and joyous face of Luba--she looked at her father with beseeching eyes and it seemed she was on the point of crying out.