He too, vibrated, like that string, with excitement, and whispered hurriedly, disconnectedly his grievances and complaints, and Ilya felt that Pavel's words fell on his heart like sparks, stirring to life in his own breast something dark and contradictory, that constantly troubled him, now flaming up, now sinking down. It seemed as though, in place of the dull, evil doubt, with which till now he had faced life, something else was suddenly kindled in his soul, brightening its darkness and shaping for it rest and relief for ever.
"Why is a man holy, if he's enough to eat? is he always in the right, if he's educated?" whispered Pavel, standing close to Ilya, and looking round him as though he were aware of the unknown enemy who had spoilt his life. "See," he went on, "if I am hungry, if I'm stupid, still I have a soul! Or hasn't a hungry man a soul? I see that I have no decent, real life, they have ruined my life, they've cut short my wishes and set up barriers on all my ways, and why?"
"No one can say," cried Ilya harshly, "and there's no one we could ask who would understand? We are all strangers."
"That's true, whom can we talk to?" asked Pavel, with a despairing gesture, and was silent.
Lunev looked straight before him down the wide corridor, and sighed deeply.
The dull moaning was heard again, now they were silent, it sounded more clearly; it seemed to come from the breast of a big, strong man, struggling with great pain.
"Are you still with Olympiada?" asked Pavel.
"Yes, still," answered Ilya.
"And think," he added with a strange smile, "Jakov has got on so well with his reading that now he's doubtful about God."
"Really?"