Ilya shook off the hand from his shoulder; he wanted to say: "you--oh! don't be afraid, no one called out that it was for you she stole," but he said instead, "and Petrusha Filimonov to condemn her, that's as it should be, isn't it?" and laughed. Then with scorn in his face he went out into the street, and went slowly along with a sense as though he were fast bound by invisible cords. Anxiety lay like a heavy stone on his heart; it sent a coldness through him confusing his thoughts, and until the evening he wandered about aimlessly, from street to street, like a stray dog, tired and hungry. No wish, no desire moved within him, and he saw nothing of all that passed round about him, till at last a sick feeling of hunger roused him from his brooding. XXVI. It was already dark; lights shone in the houses, broad yellow streaks fell across the road, and against them stood out the shadows of the flowers in the windows. Lunev stood still, and the sight of these shadows reminded him of Gromov's house, of the lady who was like the queen in a fairy tale, and the sorrowful songs that did not disturb the laughter--a cat came cautiously across the street, shaking its paws. He went on till he reached a place of four cross roads, then stood still again. One of the houses at the corner was brilliantly lighted up, and from it came the sound of music. "I'll go into the Restaurant," Ilya decided, and began to cross the road. "Look out!" cried a voice. The black head of a horse sprang up close to his face--he felt its warm breath. He jumped to one side, while the droshky driver swore at him; he went on away from the tavern. "There's no fun in being run over," he thought quietly. "I must get something to eat!--and now Vyera is done for." His mind ran still on the girl, his thoughts revolved about her almost mechanically. All the time he felt with one small part of his brain, that he ought to be thinking of himself, and not of Vyera, but he had no strength of will to change the course of his reflections. "She's proud too--she wouldn't say a word of Pashka--saw that it was no good, there--she's the best of the lot--Olympiada would have. No! Olympiada was a good sort too--but Tanyka." Suddenly he remembered that to-day Tatiana Vlassyevna had a birthday festivity, and that he was invited. At first he felt quite disinclined to go, but almost at once came an ill-tempered desire to compel himself against his wish, and then a sharp burning sensation shot through his heart. He called a droshky, and, a few minutes later, stood at the dining-room door, blinking his eyes in the strong light. He looked at the company sitting packed round the table in the big room, with a stupid smile. "Ah! there he is at last!" cried Kirik. "How pale he is!" said Tatiana. "Have you brought any sweetmeats? a birthday present, eh? What's the matter, my friend?" "Where have you come from?" asked his hostess.