"I don't know; it's three days ago."
Ilya looked at him without speaking. The quiet face and voice made it impossible to tell how Gratschev felt the flight of his companion, but in the stillness Ilya was aware of an unalterable resolution.
"What are you going to do?" he asked at length, when he saw that Pavel would not speak. Pavel stopped whistling, and said sharply, without turning round: "I'll cut her throat!"
"Ah! talking like that again!" cried Ilya, and with a gesture of annoyance.
"She's trod my heart under foot," said Pavel half-aloud. "There's the knife!" He drew from his bosom a little bread-knife and shook it.
"I'll stick it in her throat."
Ilya caught his hand, tore the knife away, and threw it on the counter, and said angrily:
"An ox once raged against a fly——"
Pavel sprang from his chair and turned his face on Ilya. His eyes were blazing, his face convulsed, and he trembled in all his limbs; then he sank back again on his chair and said, contemptuously:
"You're a fool!"