"Then I'd keep fowls," he said, and screwed up his eyes. "All sorts of fowls--Brahmahpootras, Cochin Chinas, Guinea-fowl, and turkeys--and a peacock--yes. Think of sitting at the window in a dressing-gown, smoking a scented cigarette, and seeing the peacock, my own peacock, in the courtyard, spreading his tail. That would be something like a life. He'd stalk round like a police officer, and say: 'Brr--Brrll--Brrll!'" Tatiana smiled, and, looking at Ilya, went on in her turn: "And every summer I'd go away somewhere, to the Crimea or the Caucasus, and in winter I'd be on some charitable committee. Then I'd have a black cloth dress, quite simple with no ornament, and I wouldn't wear any jewels except a ruby brooch and pearl ear-rings. I read a poem in the 'Niva,' where it said, 'that the blood and tears of the poor are turned to rubies and pearls,'" then with a soft sigh, she added, "Rubies look so nice on dark women." Ilya smiled and said nothing. It was warm and clean in the room, an odour of tea and of some pleasant scent mingled in the air. The birds, little feather balls, were asleep in the cages. A few gaudy pictures hung on the walls. A little étagère between the two windows was covered with all kinds of pretty little boxes, china birds, and gay Easter eggs of sugar or glass. The whole place pleased Ilya and filled him with a kind of soft, comfortable melancholy. Sometimes however, especially when he had earned little or nothing, this melancholy changed into a restless fretfulness. Then the china fowls and the eggs and the boxes annoyed him; he wanted to throw them on the ground and smash them. This mood disturbed and frightened him; he could not understand it and it seemed strange and unlike himself. As soon as it came upon him, he maintained an obstinate silence, kept his eyes fixed on one spot, and was afraid to speak lest he should somehow hurt the feelings of these good people. Once, however, as he was playing cards with them, he could not contain himself, and asked Kirik drily, looking him straight in the face: "I say, Kirik Nikodimovitch, you've never caught him--the murderer of the merchant in Dvoryanskaya Street?" As he spoke he felt a pleasant tingling in his breast. "Poluektov, the money-changer?" said the inspector, thoughtfully, as he examined his cards. "Poluektov? Ah! ah! No! I have not caught Poluektov--ah! I haven't caught him, my friend; that's to say, of course, not Poluektov, but the man who----I haven't even looked for him. I don't want him, anyhow--I only want to know who has the queen of spades? You, Tanya, played three cards--queen of clubs, queen of diamonds and--what was the other?" "Seven of diamonds--hurry up!" "He's quite lost!" said Ilya, and laughed scornfully. But the inspector paid no attention to him, he was absorbed in the game. "Quite lost," he repeated mechanically, "and he twisted poor Poluektov's neck--ah! ah!" "Kirya, do stop that, ah! ah!" said his wife. "Be quick!"