He whispered to Foma: "Lose no courage, these people have robbed their bellies to cover themselves with silk." And he greeted the governor before the bishop, in a respectfully cheerful voice.
"How do you do, your Excellency?
Give me your blessing, your Holiness!" "Ah, Yakov Tarasovich!" exclaimed the governor with a friendly smile, shaking and squeezing Mayakin's hand, while the old man was at the same time kissing the bishop's hand.

"How are you, deathless old man ?" "I thank you humbly, your Excellency! My respects to Sophya Pavlovna!" Mayakin spoke fast, whirling like a peg-top amid the crowd of people.
In a minute he managed to shake hands with the presiding justice of the court, with the prosecutor, with the mayor--in a word, with all those people whom he considered it necessary to greet first; such as these, however, were few.

He jested, smiled and at once attracted everybody's attention to his little figure, and Foma with downcast head stood behind him, looking askance at these people wrapped in costly stuffs, embroidered with gold; he envied the old man's adroitness and lost his courage, and feeling that he was losing his courage--he grew still more timid.

But now Mayakin seized him by the hand and drew him up to himself.
"There, your Excellency, this is my godson, Foma, the late Ignat's only son." "Ah!" said the governor in his basso, "I'm very pleased.

I sympathise with you in your misfortune, young man!" he said, shaking Foma's hand, and became silent; then he added resolutely and confidently: "To lose a father, that is a very painful misfortune." And, having waited about two seconds for Foma's answer, he turned away from him, addressing Mayakin approvingly: "I am delighted with the speech you made yesterday in the city hall! Beautiful, clever, Yakov Tarasovich.