"So much the worse—but this is no argument," answered the girl; and her words fell on Ilya like a cold douche. He supported himself with both hands on the counter, and bent forward as though he were going to spring over, and gazed at her for some seconds in silence, cut to the heart, and astonished at her quietness. Her glance and her unmoved countenance, full of profound conviction, restrained his anger and confused him; he felt something fearless, impregnable in her, and the words he needed to refute her died on his tongue.
"Well? What then?" she asked with a cool challenge, then laughed, and said triumphantly:
"It's impossible to disprove it, because I spoke the truth."
"Impossible?" repeated Ilya in a dull voice.
"Yes, impossible. What can you say against it?"
She laughed again condescendingly.
"Good-bye!" and she went out, her head even higher than usual.
"That's all nonsense! It isn't true, excuse me"—Lunev shouted after her. But she did not turn round. Ilya sat down on the stool. Gavrik stood at the door and looked at him, evidently well pleased with his sister's behaviour; his face had an important triumphant expression.
"What are you staring at?" cried Lunev crossly, feeling annoyed by the boy's expression.
"Nothing."