Volodin relapsed into an injured silence, but still walked beside him. Peredonov said in a preoccupied way: "The Routilov girls ought to be informed against too. They only go to church to chatter and to laugh. They rouge themselves, they dress themselves up and then go to church. And then they steal incense to make scents of--that's why they have such a strong smell." "What do you think of that?" said Volodin shaking his head with his bulging, dull eyes. The shadow of a cloud ran quickly over the ground, and brought a feeling of dread on Peredonov. Sometimes the grey nedotikomka glimmered in the clouds of dust. Whenever the grass stirred in the wind Peredonov saw the nedotikomka running through it, feeding on the grass. "Why is there grass in the town?" he thought. "What neglect; it ought to be rooted out." A twig stirred in the tree, it rolled up, cawed and flew away in the distance. Peredonov shivered, gave a wild cry and ran off home. Volodin ran after him anxiously, and, with a perplexed expression in his bulging eyes, clutched at his bowler hat and swung his stick. * * * * * That same day Bogdanov asked Machigin to come and see him. Before entering the inspector's house Machigin stood in the street with his back to the sun, took off his hat and combed his hair with his fingers, noticing from his shadow that his hair was unkempt. "Explain yourself, young man. What are you thinking of, eh?" Bogdanov assailed Machigin with these words. "What is the matter?" asked Machigin unconcernedly, playing with his straw hat and swinging his left foot. Bogdanov did not ask him to sit down as he intended to reprimand him. "How is it, young man, how is it that you've been wearing a badge, eh? What made you infringe the rule?" he asked, assuming an expression of sternness and shaking his Adam's apple. Machigin flushed but answered boldly: "What of it? Haven't I a right to?" "Are you an official, eh? An official?" said Bogdanov excitedly. "What sort of an official are you, eh? A copying clerk, eh?" "It's a sign of a schoolmaster's calling," said Machigin, boldly, and suddenly smiled as he called to mind what the dignity of a schoolmaster's vocation was. "Carry a stick in your hand, a stick. That's the sign of your schoolmaster's calling," said Bogdanov shaking his head. "But please, Sergey Potapitch," said Machigin in an injured tone, "what's the good of a stick? Anyone can do that, but a badge gives a man prestige." "What sort of prestige, eh? What sort of prestige?" Bogdanov shouted at him. "What sort of prestige do you want, eh? Are you an official?" "Oh, but forgive me, Sergey Potapitch," said Machigin persuasively and reasonably. "Among the ignorant peasant classes a badge immediately arouses a feeling of respect--they've been much more respectful lately." Machigin stroked his red moustache in a self-satisfied way.