Two days later Ilya met Pashka Gratschev. It was evening, little flakes of snow danced in the air and glimmered in the light of the lamps. In spite of the cold, Pavel wore nothing thicker than a cotton shirt, without a belt. He walked slowly, his head on his breast, his hands in his pockets, and his back bent as though he were looking for something. When Ilya stopped him and spoke to him, Pashka raised his head, looked into Ilya's face, and said indifferently:
"How goes it?" asked Ilya, falling into step.
"It's just possible things might be worse. And you?"
They walked along together silently, their elbows touching.
"Why didn't you come to see us?" asked Ilya. "I'm always inviting you."
"No opportunity, brother. You know people like us don't get much time."
"Don't be cross. You're always saying I ought to come, and for all that, you've never asked me where I live, much less thought of paying me a visit."
"You're right; it's a fact!" said Ilya, laughing. "But tell me now."
Pavel looked at him, laughed too, and went on more cheerfully:
"I live for myself. I've no friends, can't find any who can put up with me. I've been ill--three months in hospital. Not a soul came to see me all the time."
"Caught cold once, when I was drunk. Typhus it was. When I was better, that was the worst. I lay alone all day and all night. You feel dumb and blind, like a puppy they throw into a pond. Thanks to the doctor, I had some books at least, else I should have been bored to death."
"Ye-es, they were jolly good, mostly poems--Lermontov, Nekrassov, Pushkin. Lots of times, reading was like drinking milk. Verses, brother! To read verses is like your sweetheart kissing you. A line sometimes goes through your heart and makes the sparks fly--you feel on fire."
"And I've given up reading books," said Ilya, with a sigh.
"Oh, what's the good of them, after all? You read books, and things seem to go one way, and you look at the real thing, and it's all different."
"You're right there! Shall we turn in anywhere? We might have a bit of a talk. There's somewhere I must go, but there's plenty of time. Perhaps you'll come along?"
Ilya agreed and took Pashka's arm. Pavel looked him in the face, and said, smiling:
"We were never really friends, but I'm always very glad to meet you."