Matiza's room was long and narrow, and the ceiling was actually the shape of a coffin lid. Near the door stood a Dutch stove, and along the wall, with its head against the stove a wide bed; opposite the bed a table and two chairs; a third chair stood in front of the window that appeared as a dark spot in the grey wall. Up here the howling and rushing of the wind was heard very distinctly. Ilya sat down in the chair by the window, looked round the walls and asked, pointing to a little eikon in one corner: "What picture is that?" "Saint Anna," said Matiza softly and devoutly. "And what's your own name?" "Anna, too, didn't you know?" "No." "Nobody knows!" said Matiza, and sat down heavily on the bed. Ilya looked at her but felt no desire to speak; Matiza also was silent and so they sat for a space, three minutes or so, dumb, with no indication that they noticed one another. Finally Matiza asked: "Well, what shall we do?" "I don't know," answered Ilya, undecidedly. "Well, that's good," said the woman, and laughed scornfully. "What then?" "First you can treat me; go and get a jug of beer. No--buy me something to eat. Nothing else, just something to eat." She faltered, coughed, and then added in a shamefaced way: "You see, since my leg's been bad, I've earned nothing--because I can't go out; all I had is used up; to-day's the fifth day I've sat at home, so it's no wonder. Yesterday it was a near thing, and to-day I've eaten nothing; it's true, by God, it's true." For the first time Ilya became conscious that Matiza was a prostitute. He looked close into her big face and saw that her eyes smiled a little, and her lips moved as though they were sucking something invisible. He felt a certain awkwardness before her, and yet a strange interest that he could not explain. "I'll get you something, and beer too." He got up quickly, hurried downstairs and stood a moment before the kitchen door. Suddenly he felt a disinclination to go back to the garret; but it only flickered like a tiny spark in the melancholy darkness of his soul and at once faded out. He went into the kitchen, bought some scraps of meat from the cook for ten kopecks, a couple of slices of bread, and other odds and ends of eatables. The cook put it all in a dirty sieve. Ilya took it in both hands like a dish, went out into the passage and stood a moment, wondering how to get the beer. Terenti would question him if he fetched it himself from the bar. He called the dish-cleaner from the kitchen and bade him get it. The man ran off, was back in a moment and gave him the bottles without a word, and lifted the latch of the kitchen door. "Hold on," said Ilya, "it isn't for myself; a friend is paying me a visit, it's for him." "Eh?" "I'm treating a friend." "Oh, well, what's the odds?"