"It's better as I tell it. One mustn't alter the Holy Scriptures, but any other books, one can do as one likes about. They're written by men and I'm a man too. I can improve them if I want to. But tell me something different. When you're asleep, where is your soul?" "How should I know?" answered Ilya, who disliked questions that roused a painful disquiet in him. "I believe they just fly away," Jakov explained. "Of course they fly away," Masha confirmed him in a tone of conviction. "How do you know that?" asked Ilya sternly. "Oh! I just think so." "Yes, that's it, they fly away," said Jakov thoughtfully, smiling, "They must rest some time, that's how the dreams come." Ilya did not know how to answer this observation, and said nothing in spite of a keen wish to reply. For a time all were silent. It became darker in the dim cave of a cellar; the lamp smouldered, a strong-smelling vapour came from the charcoal under the samovar. From far away a dull mysterious noise rolled down to them; it came from the bar room in wild riot and confusion above their heads, and again Jakov's voice was heard: "See, men make a row, and work, all that sort of thing. They call that living, and then all at once--bang! and the man's dead. What does that mean? What do you think, Ilya?" "It doesn't mean anything, they're old and they've got to die." "That won't do, young people die, and children--healthy people die too." "If they die, they're not healthy." "What do men live for, anyway?" "That's a clever question!" cried Ilya, mockingly, since he felt able to reply to this. "They live, just to live; they work and try to be happy. Every one wants to live well, and tries to get on; they all look out for chances to get rich and live comfortably." "Yes, poor people. But rich people, they've got everything to start with, they've nothing to look out for." "Ain't you clever! Rich. If there weren't any rich, whom would the poor work for?" Jakov thought a little and then asked: "You think then that every one lives just to work?" "Yes, certainly, that is--not quite all. Some work and the rest just live. They worked before, saved money, and now they just enjoy their life." "And what do people live for, anyhow?" "Oh! get out with you! Because they want to. Perhaps you don't want to?" cried Ilya out of all patience. He could not have said exactly why he was annoyed, whether that Jakov raised these questions at all, or whether that he asked so stupidly. He felt definite doubts arise in him under the interrogations, and he could find no clear answer. "Why do you live yourself? tell me that, then, why?" he shouted at Jakov. "I don't know," answered Jakov resignedly. "I'd just as soon die. It must be beastly; still I'd like to know what it's like." Then suddenly he began in a tone of friendly reproach: