"I'll say it. Do you think I won't stand up for myself, or that I want to go to Siberia for this old wretch and a matter of two thousand roubles? No? I've something else to do with my life!" His face was red with excitement, and his eyes shone. She came close to him and said in a whisper: "Did you really only take two thousand roubles?" "Two thousand and a little more." "Poor boy; no luck even there!" and the tears shone in her eyes. Ilya, smiled and said bitterly: "Ah! d'you think I did it for the money? you know better--wait!--let me go first." "Come and see me soon; there's no need for us to hide; come soon." They parted with a long passionate kiss. As soon as Ilya reached the street he hailed a droshky. As he went he kept looking back to see if he were followed. His heart was lighter and a warm, tender feeling for Olympiada awaked in it. By no word or look had she wounded him, when he made his confession, she had rather taken on herself a part of the guilt than thrust him away. One minute before, when she did not know, she was ready to destroy him; he had read it in her face; then suddenly she had changed; he smiled gently as he thought of it. Next day Ilya felt like the quarry that finds the huntsman on its track. Petrusha met him in the bar room early; he answered Ilya's greeting with a nod, and looked at him strangely, searchingly. Terenti looked hard at him, sighed and said nothing, Jakov met him in Masha's room, and said with a terrified face: "Last night the Ward Superintendent was here; he asked father all about you. Why did he do that?" "What did he ask about?" said Ilya quietly. "Everything--how you live, if you drink brandy, if you go with women,--he mentioned some Olympiada; didn't you know her, he asked. Why did he want to know all this?" "Heaven knows;" answered Ilya, and left him. That evening came another letter from Olympiada. "They've questioned me about you. I have said everything exactly; there's nothing in all that, and it isn't risky. Don't be anxious. I kiss you dearest." He threw the letter at once in the fire. In Filimonov's house as well as in the bar, the talk was all of the murder. Ilya listened with a distinct sense of pleasure. He liked to pass near men who were discussing his deed, asking for details, which were invented freely, and thought with pleasure what profound amazement he could bring on them if he said: "I did it--I!"