His thin, long nose was turned downward as though it wished to hide itself in his white moustache; the old man moved his lips, and from beneath them small, yellow teeth were gleaming.
He had on a pink calico shirt, a silk belt around his waist, and black, loose trousers, which were tucked into his boots.

Foma stared at his lips and thought that the old man was surely such as he was said to be.
"As a boy you looked more like your father," said Shchurov suddenly, and sighed.

Then, after a moment's silence, he asked: "Do you remember your father?
Do you ever pray for him?
You must, you must pray!" he went on, after he heard Foma's brief answer.

"Ignat was a terrible sinner, and he died without repentance, taken unawares.

He was a great sinner!" "He was not more sinful than others," replied Foma, angrily, offended in his father's behalf.
"Than who, for instance ?" demanded Shchurov, strictly.
"Are there not plenty of sinners ?" "There is but one man on earth more sinful than was the late Ignat--and that is that cursed heathen, your godfather Yashka," ejaculated the old man.
"Are you sure of it ?" inquired Foma, smiling.
"I?
Of course, I am!" said Shchurov, confidently, nodding his head, and his eyes became somewhat darker.