But he is a Mayakin! And I can feel it at once! I feel it and say: 'Today thou forgivest Thy servant, Oh Lord!'" The old man was trembling with the fever of his exultation, and fairly hopped as he stood before Foma.
"Calm yourself, father!" said Taras, slowly rising from his chair and walking up to his father.

"Why confuse the young man?
Come, let us sit down." He gave Foma a fleeting smile, and, taking his father by the arm, led him toward the table.
"I believe in blood," said Yakov Tarasovich; "in hereditary blood.
Therein lies all power! My father, I remember, told me: 'Yashka, you are my genuine blood!' There.

The blood of the Mayakins is thick--it is transferred from father to father and no woman can ever weaken it.

Let us drink some champagne! Shall we?
Very well, then! Tell me more--tell me about yourself.

How is it there in Siberia ?" And again, as though frightened and sobered by some thought, the old man fixed his searching eyes upon the face of his son.