Offended to the quick, Foma looked with a frown at the fat lips and at the jaws chewing the tasty food, and he felt like crying out and driving away all these people, whose sedateness had but lately inspired him with respect for them.
"You had better be more kind, more sociable," said Mayakin in a low voice, coming up to him.
"Why are they gobbling here?
Is this a tavern ?" cried Foma, angrily.
"Hush," Mayakin remarked with fright and hastily turned to look around with a kind smile on his face.
But it was too late; his smile was of no avail.

Foma's words had been overheard, the noise and the talk was subsiding, some of the guests began to bustle about hurriedly, others, offended, frowned, put down their forks and knives and walked away from the table, all looking at Foma askance.
Silent and angry, he met these glances without lowering his eyes.
"I ask you to come up to the table!" cried Mayakin, gleaming amid the crowd of people like an ember amid ashes.

"Be seated, pray! They're soon serving pancakes." Foma shrugged his shoulders and walked off toward the door, saying aloud: "I shall not eat." He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his godfather's wheedling voice saying to somebody: "It's for grief.

Ignat was at once father and mother to him." Foma came out in the garden and sat down on the same place where his father had died.

The feeling of loneliness and grief oppressed his heart.