Kirik caught him by the sleeve, and led him round the table presenting him to the guests. Lunev pressed several warm hands, but the faces swam before his eyes, and blended into one long cold face, smiling politely and showing big teeth. The reek of cooking tickled his nose; the chattering of the women sounded in his ears like rushing rain; his eyes were hot, a dull pain prevented him from moving them, and a coloured mist seemed to widen out before them. When he sat down he felt that his knees were aching with weariness, while hunger gnawed his entrails. He took a piece of bread and began to eat. One of the guests blew his nose loudly, while Tatiana said: "Won't you congratulate me? You're a nice person! You come here, and say nothing, and sit down and begin to eat." Beneath the table she pressed her foot hard on his, and bent over the teapot as she poured him out his tea. Ilya heard her whisper through the noise of pouring, "Behave yourself properly!" He put his bread back on the table, rubbed his hands, and said loudly. "I've been at the law courts all day." His voice dominated the noise of conversation, and there was a silence among the guests. Lunev was confused as he felt their glances on his face, and looked back at them stupidly from under his brows. They looked at him a little suspiciously, as though doubting if this broad-shouldered, curly-haired youth could have anything interesting to relate. An embarrassed silence continued in the room. Isolated thoughts circled in Ilya's brain--disconnected and gray, they seemed to sink and suddenly disappear in the darkness of his soul. "Sometimes it's very interesting in the courts," remarked Madame Felizata Yegarovna Grislova, nibbling a piece of marmalade cake. Red patches appeared on Tatiana's cheeks, Kirik blew his nose loudly and said: "Well, brother, you begin, but you don't go on. You were at the court----?" "I'll let them have it!" thought Ilya, and smiled slowly. The conversation began again here and there. "I once heard a murder trial," said a young telegraph official, a pale dark-eyed man with a small moustache. "I love to read or hear about murders," cried Madame Travkina; her husband looked round the table and said, "Public trials are an excellent institution." "It was a friend of mine, Yevgeniyev--you see he was on duty in the strong room, got playing with a young fellow and shot him by accident." "Ah--how horrible!" cried Tatiana. "Dead as a door nail!" added the telegraph official, with distinct enjoyment. "I was called as a witness once," began Travkin now in a dry, creaking voice, "and I heard a man condemned who had carried out twenty-three robberies--not so bad, eh?"