Ilya listened, as he drank his tea, which seemed to have a bitter taste. In this woman's speech there was something defiant, unpleasantly provocative, that was new to him. Involuntarily he remembered Olympiada, the deep voice, the quiet movements, and the glowing words that had power to grip his heart. For the rest Olympiada was a woman of no great education, who might have been the wife of a small tradesman, but even because of that she was simpler in her shamelessness. Ilya answered Tatiana's pleasantries with a slight laugh, and had to force himself even to laugh. His heart was sick, and he only laughed because he did not know what to speak of. Her words aroused a painful melancholy in him, and yet he listened with deep interest, and finally said thoughtfully: "I did not believe that such things happened in your set?" "Things, my dear, are the same everywhere." "You don't mind much, do you? Why do you look so cross?" Ilya stood in the doorway and looked fixedly at her, wrinkling his brow. She went up to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his face curiously. "I'm not cross," said Ilya seriously. "Really? Oh! thank you--ha! ha! ha! how good you are!" She laughed brightly. "I was only thinking," said Ilya, speaking slowly--"It's all quite right, what you say--but there's something bad in it too." "Oho! What a touchy person you are! Something bad, eh? What then--explain to me!" But he could not. He himself did not understand what it was in her words that displeased him. Olympiada had often spoken, more simply, more plainly; but her words had never given him the pain of soul that he felt from the chatter of this pretty little bird. He pondered all day obstinately on the strange feeling of discomfort that had arisen in his heart through this new intimacy, so flattering to his vanity, and he could not arrive at the source of the sensation. When he came home that night, Kirik met him in the kitchen, and said in a friendly way: "I say, Ilya, Tanyusha did some cooking to-day--meat pasties--I tell you, it seemed almost a pity to eat them! Almost as bad as eating living nightingales. I've left a plateful for you, brother. Hang up your box, sit down, and see what you will see." Ilya looked at him conscience-stricken, and said with a forced laugh: "Thank you, Kirik Nikodimovitch." Then he added, with a sigh: "You're a good fellow, by Jove!" "What," answered Kirik, "a plate of pasty--that's nothing! No, brother, if I were chief of police--then you might perhaps thank me, but I'm not. I shall give up the police altogether, and start as agent or manager in a big business. A manager, that's something like a good position; if I get it I'll soon get a little capital together."