"There was a little stream, so quiet and still, and pleasant company, a telegraph official, for instance, who played the violin beautifully. I learned to row, but the peasant children! a perfect plague! like flies, they worry, and beg and whine--give--give! they learn it from their parents; it's disgusting!" "No one teaches them anything!" replied Ilya coldly. "Their parents work, and the children live as they can--it's not true what you say." Tatiana looked at him in astonishment and opened her mouth to speak; but at that moment Terenti smiled propitiatingly and remarked: "When ladies come to the villages nowadays, that's quite a wonder to the people. Formerly the owner used to live there all his life, and now they only come for a holiday." Madame Avtonomov looked at him, then at Ilya, and without saying anything fixed her eyes on the book. Terenti was confused, and began to pull at his shirt. For a minute no one spoke in the shop, only the rustling leaves of the book and a kind of purring as Terenti rubbed his hump against the door posts. "But you," said Ilya's calm, cold voice suddenly, "before you address a lady, say, 'Excuse me, or allow me, and bow.'" The book fell from Tatiana's hand and slipped over the desk; but she caught it, slapped her hand on it and began to laugh. Terenti went out, hanging his head. Tatiana looked up smiling into Ilya's gloomy face, and asked softly: "You're cross, is it with me? Why?" Her face was roguish, tender; her eyes shone teasingly. Lunev stretched out his arm and caught her by the shoulder. All at once his hate against her flared up, a wild tigerish desire to embrace her, to hug her till he heard her bones crack. He drew her towards him, showing his teeth; she caught his hand, tried to loosen his grasp, and whispered: "Let go, you hurt me, are you mad? you can't kiss me here. And listen: I don't like your uncle being here, he's a hunchback, and people will be afraid of him; let go, I say. We must get rid of him somehow, d'you hear?" But he held her in his arms and bent his head down to her, with wide-open eyes. "What are you doing, it's impossible here. Let go!" Suddenly she let herself sink to the ground and slipped out of his hands like a fish. Through a hot mist he saw her standing in the street door, straightening her jacket with trembling hands: she said: "Oh, you're brutal! can't you wait, then?" In his head was a noise of running waters; standing motionless, with fingers intertwined, he looked at her from behind the counter as if in her alone he saw all the evil and sorrow of his life. "I like you to be passionate, but, my dear, you must be able to control yourself." "Go!" said Ilya. "I'm going. I can't see you to-day, but the day after to-morrow, the twenty-third, it's my birthday, will you come?" As she spoke she fingered her brooch without looking at Ilya. "Go away!" he repeated, trembling with desire to clutch and torture her.