“Isn’t that so?” she asked, naively looking into his face. Foma was silent, his head bent on his breast. “Don’t you believe that I am an old woman?” “I believe you; that is, I believe everything you may say; only this is not true!” said Foma, feelingly, in a low voice. “What is not true? What do you believe me?” “No! not this, but that. I--excuse me! I cannot speak!” said Foma, sadly, all aflush with confusion. “I am not cultured.” “You need not trouble yourself on this account,” said Medinskaya, patronisingly. “You are so young, and education is accessible to everybody. But there are people to whom education is not only unnecessary, but who can also be harmed by it. Those that are pure of heart, sanguine, sincere, like children, and you are of those people. You are, are you not?” What could Foma say in answer to this question? He said sincerely: “I thank you humbly!” And noticing that his words called forth a gay gleam in Medinskaya’s eyes, Foma appeared ridiculous and stupid in his own eyes; he immediately became angry at himself and said in a muffled voice: “Yes, I am such. I always speak my mind. I cannot deceive. If I see something to laugh at, I laugh openly. I am stupid!” “What makes you speak that way?” said the woman, reproachfully, and adjusting her dress, she accidentally stroked Foma’s hand, in which he held his hat. This made him look at his wrist and smile joyously and confusedly. “You will surely be present at the dinner, won’t you?” asked Medinskaya. “Yes.” “And tomorrow at the meeting in my house?” “Without fail!” “And perhaps sometime you will drop in, simply on a visit, wouldn’t you?” “I--I thank you! I’ll come!” “I must thank you for the promise.” They became silent. In the air soared the reverently soft voice of the bishop, who recited the prayer expressively, outstretching his hand over the place where the corner-stone of the house was laid: “May neither the wind, nor water, nor anything else bring harm unto it; may it be completed in thy benevolence, and free all those that are to live in it from all kinds of calumny.” “How rich and beautiful our prayers are, are they not?” asked Medinskaya. “Yes,” said Foma, shortly, without understanding her words and feeling that he was blushing again.