Then again, all the disturbance and contradiction in his soul was covered by the joyful thought that soon now his sheltered, clean life would begin. But to the end the painful, stabbing thought persisted: "It would have been better without this." He stayed in bed, pondering, till Avtonomov went to his duties. He heard the inspector say to his wife, smacking his lips: "Let me have meat pasties for dinner, Tanya. Take a little more pork, and then just brown them a little, till they look like tiny little sucking pigs on the plate--you know; and just a little pepper with them, my dear, the way I like it. Then I'll bring you some marmalade, shall I?" "Now, go along! go along! As if I didn't know what you like!" said his wife tenderly. "And now, my darling, my little Tanya, give me one more kiss!" Lunev shuddered. It all seemed to him horrible and ridiculous. "Tchik! tchik!" cried Avtonomov as he kissed his wife, and she laughed. As soon as she had shut the door behind him, she danced into Ilya's room, and cried: "Kiss me quick--I've no time." "You've just kissed your husband," said Ilya moodily. "Wha--at? Eh? Aha! He's jealous!" she cried, delighted, then sprang up and drew the window curtain. "Jealous!" she said. "That's so nice! Jealous men are always passionate lovers." "I didn't say it out of jealousy." "Don't talk!" she commanded, and put her hand on his lips. Then, when she had been kissed enough, she looked at Ilya, with a smile, and could not keep from saying: "Well, you're a bold fellow--a downright daredevil--to carry on like this under the husband's nose." Her greenish eyes sparkled impudently, and she cried: "Oh, it's quite a common thing, not in the least unusual! Do you suppose there are many women true to their husbands? Only the ugly ones and the sick ones--a pretty woman always wants to enjoy herself and have a little romance." During the whole morning she instructed Ilya on this point, told him all sorts of stories of wives who were untrue to their husbands. In her red blouse, with her skirts tucked up, and her sleeves rolled above her elbows, supple and light, she danced about the kitchen, preparing the pasties for her husband, and chattering all the time in her clear, ringing voice: "A husband!--d'you think a wife must be always content with him? The husband can sometimes be very disagreeable, even if you love him; and then he never thinks twice if he has a chance to be false to his wife. So it's dull for a wife, too, to think of nothing all her life but--my husband, my husband, my husband."