He settled himself in a chair, puffed out the smoke of his cigarette and went on, lowering his voice: "A little while ago, brother, I was in a village--have you heard? I tell you, the girls there--d'you know, such children of Nature, so solid you know, you can't pinch them, the rascals,--and so cheap, too; a bottle of Schnapps, a pound of honey cakes, and she is yours!" Lunev listened, but said nothing. For some reason or other he was sorry for Kirik, and pitied him without realising why this fat and stupid fellow should rouse such a feeling. At the same time he almost always wanted to laugh at the sight of him. Ilya did not believe Kirik's tales of his adventures in the village, but thought he was only boasting, talking as he had heard others talk. But when he was in a gloomy mood, then he listened to Kirik and thought: "Fighting for crumbs!" "Yes, brother, it's splendid to make love in the bosom of Nature, in the shade of the leaves as they say in books." "But if Tatiana Vlassyevna knew?" "She won't know, brother," answered Kirik, and winked cheerfully. But when Avtonomov departed Ilya thought of his words, and felt hurt. It was evident that Kirik, good-tempered and ridiculous though he were, yet held himself to be a man out of the common, whom Ilya could not hope to equal, higher in station and more important. Yet he profited by the business Ilya carried on with his wife. Perfishka had told them that Petrusha laughed at his shop and called him a rascal. Jakov had said to the cobbler that formerly Ilya was better and more friendly than now and did not think so much of himself, and Gavrik's sister constantly demonstrated that she thought herself superior to him. The daughter of a postman, who went about almost in rags, behaved as though it were too much for her to live on the same world as he did. Ilya's ambition had grown since he had opened his shop, and he was more sensitive than before. His interest deepened in this girl who was so ugly, but had so strong a personality; he sought to understand whence came this pride in a poor ragged girl, a pride which grew to annoy him more and more. At first she would not talk to him, and that pained him. Her brother was his servant, and therefore she ought to be more friendly with him, the employer. He said to her once: "I'm reading the book of 'Don Quixote.'" "Well, do you like it?" she asked, without looking at him. "Rather, most amusing,--he was a funny old owl that fellow!" She looked at him, and Ilya felt as though her proud dark eyes pierced his face angrily. "I knew you would say something like that," she said, slowly and with meaning. Ilya was conscious of something reproachful, contemptuous and hostile in her words. "I'm an uneducated man," he said, and shrugged his shoulders. She said nothing as though she had not heard him.