The women screamed, Travkin sprang from the bench where he had been sitting and running aimlessly to and fro croaked: "Let me go—I can't bear it—Let me go!—this is a family affair."
But Avtonomov paid no attention; he ran backwards and forwards before Ilya aiming at him and screaming:
"Penal servitude! wait—that's what we'll give you."
"Listen—your pistol is not even loaded, is it?" asked Ilya indifferently, looking at him wearily, "why do you make such a fuss? I shan't run away. I don't know where to go. Penal servitude, eh? Well, as for that, it's all one to me now."
"Anton! Anton!" shrieked Madame Travkin. "Come at once!"
"I can't, my dear, I can't."
She took his arm, and both slipped by Ilya, huddled together, with bowed heads. Tatiana sat in the next room, whimpering and sobbing, and in Lunev's breast the dark cold feeling of emptiness grew and grew.
"All my life is ruined," he said slowly and thoughtfully, "and there's nothing to be pitied about—who has destroyed it?"
Avtonomov stood in front of him and cried triumphantly:
"Aha! how you want to work on our feelings! but you won't."