Then he would begin and relate all that had happened in the town, the processes he had drawn up, what the Chief of Police or any of his superiors had said. They talked of the possibility of a rise of salary for him, and discussed minutely whether, in such an event, they ought to take a bigger house.
Ilya lay and listened till suddenly a melancholy weariness fell on him. The little blue room was too narrow; he looked restlessly round as if to seek the cause of his moodiness, then, unable longer to endure the weight that lay at his breast, he went to Olympiada, or loafed aimlessly in the streets.
Olympiada became more and more full of reproaches. She plagued him with jealousy and more and more frequently they fell into contention. She grew thin, her eyes were sunken and looked darker, her arms were thinner, and all this was not pleasing to Ilya. Still less, however, did he like the fact that of late she had begun to talk of conscience and God, and of going into a nunnery. He did not believe in the genuineness of her words, for he knew she could not live without the society of men.
"You needn't pray for me if you take the veil," he said one day with a mocking smile. "I'll manage my own sins alone."
She looked at him full of fear and sadness.
"Ilya, don't make a jest of it!"
"But I mean it."
"You don't believe that I shall go to a nunnery? You'll see, then you'll believe."
"Not at all—I believe you; lots of people turn monks or nuns out of sheer wickedness."
Olympiada grew angry with him and they quarrelled fiercely.