The hunchback drew back the bolts and Jakov appeared, a great, red-brown book in his hand. "Ilya, come to Mashutka!" he said quickly, and advanced to the bed. "What's wrong with her?" said Ilya hastily. "With her? I don't know, she's not at home." "Where does she always go gadding to in the evenings?" asked the hunchback in a tone of annoyance. "She always goes out with Matiza," said Ilya. "She'll get a lot of good there!" answered Terenti, with emphasis. "It doesn't matter. Come Ilya!" Jakov caught Ilya by the sleeve and drew him away. "Hold on!" cried Lunev. "Tell me, have you got your mind clear yet?" "Think--it's here--the Black Magic's here!" whispered Jakov, radiant. "Who?" asked Ilya, pulling on his felt slippers. "Why, you know, the book. Heavens! you'll see. Come. Extraordinary things, I tell you," Jakov went on enthusiastically, as he dragged his friend along the dark passage. "It's awful to read, it's like falling down a precipice." Ilya saw his friend's excitement and heard how his voice shook. When they reached the cobbler's room, and had lighted the lamp, he saw that Jakov's face was quite pale, and his eyes dim and happy, like those of a drunken man. "Have you been drinking?" asked Ilya, suspiciously. "I? No. Not a drop to-day! I never drink now, anyway, or only when father's at home, to screw up my courage, two or three glasses, no more. I'm afraid of father--always drinks stuff that doesn't smell too strong though--but never mind that, listen!" He fell into a chair so heavily that it creaked, opened his book, bent double over it, and fingering the old pages, yellow with age, he read in a hollow, trembling voice: "'Third Chapter--On the origin of man.' Now, listen!" He sighed, took his left hand off the book, and read aloud. The index finger of his right hand preceded his voice, as though writing in the old book. "'It is said, and Diodorus confirms, that the origin of man is conceived according to two ways, by the virtuous men'--d'you hear, virtuous men--'who have written on the nature of things. Some consider that the world is uncreated and imperishable, and that the race of men has existed from eternity, without any beginning.'" Jakov raised his head, and said in a whisper, gesticulating with his hand in the air: "D'you hear? Without beginning!" "Go on!" said Ilya, and looked distrustfully at the old leather-bound book. Jakov's voice continued, softly and solemnly: "'This opinion was held, according to Cicero, by Pythagoras of Samos, Archytas of Tarentum, Plato of Athens, Xenokrates, Aristotle of Stagira, and many others of the peripatetic philosophers, who took the view that all that is, exists from eternity, and has no beginning'--d'you see, again, no beginning--'but that there is a certain cycle of life, those that were born and those that are born, in which cycle is the beginning and the end of every man that is born.'" Ilya stretched out his hand and struck the book, and said mockingly: