"You're adopting him?"
"He is my son."
"Of course, he's a Shatov, legally he's a Shatov, and there's no point presenting yourself as a benefactor of mankind. They just can't do without their phrases. Well, well, all right, only I tell you what, ladies and gentlemen," she finally finished tidying up, "it's time for me to go. I'll come again in the morning, and in the evening if need be, and now, since it's all gone off so very well, I must also run to the others, they've been waiting a long time. Shatov, you've got an old woman sitting somewhere; the old woman is fine, but you, dear husband, don't you leave her either; stay by her, just in case you can be useful; and I don't suppose Marya Ignatievna will chase you away... well, well, I'm just laughing..."
At the gate, where Shatov went to see her off, she added, to him alone:
"You've made me laugh for the rest of my life: I won't take any money from you; I'll laugh in my sleep. I've never seen anything funnier than you last night."
She left thoroughly pleased. From Shatov's look and his talk, it became clear as day that the man "was going to make a father of himself, and was a consummate dishrag." She ran over to her place, though it would have been closer to go directly to her next patient, on purpose to tell Virginsky about it.
"Marie, she said you should wait and not sleep for a while, though that, I see, is terribly difficult. . ." Shatov began timidly. "I'll sit here by the window and keep watch on you, hm?"
And he sat down by the window behind the sofa so that there was no way she could see him. But before a minute had passed, she called him and squeamishly asked him to straighten her pillow. He began to straighten it. She was looking angrily at the wall.
"Not like that, oh, not like that... What hands!"
Shatov straightened it again.
"Bend down to me," she suddenly said wildly, trying all she could not to look at him.
He gave a start, but bent down.
"More... not like that... closer," and suddenly her left arm impetuously went around his neck, and he felt on his forehead her firm, moist kiss.
"Marie!"
Her lips were trembling, she tried to restrain herself, but suddenly she sat up and, flashing her eyes, said:
"Nikolai Stavrogin is a scoundrel!"
And strengthlessly, as if cut down, she fell with her face in the pillow, sobbing hysterically and squeezing Shatov's hand tightly in her own.
From that moment on she no longer let him leave her, she demanded that he sit by her head. She could talk little, but kept looking at him with a blessed smile on her face. It was as if she had suddenly turned into some silly fool. Everything seemed transformed. Shatov now wept like a little boy, now said God knows what, wildly, dazedly, inspiredly; he kissed her hands; she listened with rapture, perhaps not even understanding, but tenderly touching his hair with a weakened hand, smoothing it, admiring it. He talked to her of Kirillov, of how they were now going to start living "anew and forever," of the existence of God, of everyone being good ... In rapture they again took the baby out to look at him.
"Marie," he cried, holding the baby in his arms, "an end to the old delirium, disgrace, and carrion! Let us work, and on a new path, the three of us, yes, yes! ... Ah, yes, what name are we going to give him, Marie?"
"Him? What name?" she repeated in surprise, and a terribly rueful look suddenly came to her face.
She clasped her hands, glanced reproachfully at Shatov, and threw herself facedown on the pillow.
"Marie, what is it?" he cried out with rueful fright.
"How could you, how could you... Oh, you ungrateful man!"
"Marie, forgive me, Marie ... I just asked what to name him. I don't know..."
"Ivan, Ivan," she raised her flushed face, wet with tears, "could you really suppose it would be some other, terrible name?"
"Marie, calm down, oh, you're so upset!"
"More rudeness! Why ascribe it to my being upset? I bet if I told you to give him that... terrible name, you'd agree at once and wouldn't even notice! Oh, ungrateful, mean, all of you, all of you!"
A minute later, of course, they made peace. Shatov convinced her to get some sleep. She fell asleep, but still without letting go of his hand; she kept waking up, looking at him as if fearing he might leave, and falling asleep again.
Kirillov sent the old woman up with "congratulations," and with hot tea, besides, some just-fried cutlets, and bouillon with white bread for "Marya Ignatievna." The patient drank the bouillon greedily, the old woman changed the baby, Marie also made Shatov eat the cutlets.
Time was passing. Shatov, strengthless, fell asleep in the chair himself, his head on Marie's pillow. Thus they were found by Arina Prokhorovna, true to her word, who cheerfully woke them up, discussed whatever was necessary with Marie, looked the baby over, and again told Shatov not to leave her side. Then, cracking a joke about the "spouses" with a shade of scorn and superciliousness, she left as well pleased as before.
It was already quite dark when Shatov woke up. He hastened to light the candle and ran for the old woman; but as soon as he started down the stairs, he was struck by someone's soft, unhurried footsteps of a man coming up towards him. Erkel came in.
"Don't come in!" Shatov whispered, and seizing him impetuously by the arm, he dragged him back to the gate. "Wait here, I'll come out right away, I totally, totally forgot about you! Oh, what a reminder!"
He began hurrying so much that he did not even run over to see Kirillov and only called the old woman out. Marie was in despair and indignation that he "could even think of leaving her alone."
"But," he cried rapturously, "this is the very last step! And then the new path, and we'll never, ever remember the old horror!"
He somehow managed to convince her and promised to be back at nine o'clock sharp; he gave her a big kiss, kissed the baby, and quickly ran down to Erkel.
The two men set off for Stavrogin's park at Skvoreshniki, where about a year and a half earlier, in a solitary place at the very edge of the park where the pine forest already began, he had buried the printing press that had been entrusted to him. The place was wild and deserted, totally inconspicuous, quite far from the Skvoreshniki house. It was about a two-mile walk from Filippov's house, maybe even two and a half.
"Not on foot, really? I'll hire a carriage."
"I beg you very much not to," Erkel objected, "they precisely insisted on that. A driver is also a witness."
"Well... the devil! No matter, just to be done with it, done with it!"
They were walking very quickly.
"Erkel, you little boy, you!" Shatov cried out, "have you ever been happy?"
"And you seem to be very happy now," Erkel observed with curiosity.
6: A Toilsome Night
I
V'irginsky, in the course of the day, employed two hours in running around to see all our people and tell them that Shatov was certainly not going to denounce them, because his wife had come back to him and a child had been born, and, "knowing the human heart," it was impossible to suppose he could be dangerous at that moment. But, to his disconcertion, he found almost no one home except Erkel and Lyamshin. Erkel listened to him silently, gazing serenely into his eyes; and to the direct question: "Would he go at six o'clock or not?" replied, with the most serene smile, that "of course he would."
Lyamshin was in bed, apparently quite seriously sick, with his head wrapped in a blanket. When Virginsky came in, he got scared and, as soon as he began to speak, suddenly started waving his hands from under the blanket, pleading to be left alone. However, he listened to everything about Shatov; for some reason, the news that no one was home struck him greatly. It also turned out that he already knew (through Liputin) about Fedka's death, and hurriedly and incoherently told Virginsky about it himself, thereby striking him in his turn. And to Virginsky's direct question: "Should we go or not?" he again started pleading, waving his hands, that he was "not concerned, knew nothing, and to leave him alone."