“Has your wife come?” Shatov heard her voice at the window, and to his surprise it was not at all ill-tempered, only as usual peremptory, but Arina Prohorovna could not speak except in a peremptory tone.
“Yes, my wife, and she is in labour.”
“Marya Ignatyevna?”
“Yes, Marya Ignatyevna. Of course it’s Marya Ignatyevna.”
A silence followed. Shatov waited. He heard a whispering in the house.
“Has she been here long?” Madame Virginsky asked again.
“She came this evening at eight o’clock. Please make haste.”
Again he heard whispering, as though they were consulting. “Listen, you are not making a mistake? Did she send you for me herself?”
“No, she didn’t send for you, she wants a peasant woman, so as not to burden me with expense, but don’t be afraid, I’ll pay you.”
“Very good, I’ll come, whether you pay or not. I always thought highly of Marya Ignatyevna for the independence of her sentiments, though perhaps she won’t remember me. Have you got the most necessary things?”
“I’ve nothing, but I’ll get everything, everything.”
“There is something generous even in these people,” Shatov reflected, as he set off to Lyamshin’s. “The convictions and the man are two very different things, very likely I’ve been very unfair to them! … We are all to blame, we are all to blame … and if only all were convinced of it!”
He had not to knock long at Lyamshin’s; the latter, to Shatov’s surprise, opened his casement at once, jumping out of bed, barefoot and in his nightclothes at the risk of catching cold; and he was hypochondriacal and always anxious about his health. But there was a special cause for such alertness and haste: Lyamshin had been in a tremor all the evening, and had not been able to sleep for excitement after the meeting of the quintet; he was haunted by the dread of uninvited and undesired visitors. The news of Shatov’s giving information tormented him more than anything. … And suddenly there was this terrible loud knocking at the window as though to justify his fears.
He was so frightened at seeing Shatov that he at once slammed the casement and jumped back into bed. Shatov began furiously knocking and shouting.
“How dare you knock like that in the middle of the night?” shouted Lyamshin, in a threatening voice, though he was numb with fear, when at least two minutes later he ventured to open the casement again, and was at last convinced that Shatov had come alone.
“Here’s your revolver for you; take it back, give me fifteen roubles.”
“What’s the matter, are you drunk? This is outrageous, I shall simply catch cold. Wait a minute, I’ll just throw my rug over me.”
“Give me fifteen roubles at once. If you don’t give it me, I’ll knock and shout till daybreak; I’ll break your window-frame.”
“And I’ll shout police and you’ll be taken to the lockup.”
“And am I dumb? Can’t I shout ‘police’ too? Which of us has most reason to be afraid of the police, you or I?”
“And you can hold such contemptible opinions! I know what you are hinting at. … Stop, stop, for God’s sake don’t go on knocking! Upon my word, who has money at night? What do you want money for, unless you are drunk?”
“My wife has come back. I’ve taken ten roubles off the price, I haven’t fired it once; take the revolver, take it this minute!”
Lyamshin mechanically put his hand out of the casement and took the revolver; he waited a little, and suddenly thrusting his head out of the casement, and with a shiver running down his spine, faltered as though he were beside himself.
“You are lying, your wife hasn’t come back to you. … It’s … it’s simply that you want to run away.”
“You are a fool. Where should I run to? It’s for your Pyotr Verhovensky to run away, not for me. I’ve just been to the midwife, Madame Virginsky, and she consented at once to come to me. You can ask them. My wife is in agony; I need the money; give it me!”
A swarm of ideas flared up in Lyamshin’s crafty mind like a shower of fireworks. It all suddenly took a different colour, though still panic prevented him from reflecting.
“But how … you are not living with your wife?”
“I’ll break your skull for questions like that.”
“Oh dear, I understand, forgive me, I was struck all of a heap. … But I understand, I understand … is Arina Prohorovna really coming? You said just now that she had gone? You know, that’s not true. You see, you see, you see what lies you tell at every step.”
“By now, she must be with my wife … don’t keep me … it’s not my fault you are a fool.”
“That’s a lie, I am not a fool. Excuse me, I really can’t …”
And utterly distraught he began shutting the casement again for the third time, but Shatov gave such a yell that he put his head out again.
“But this is simply an unprovoked assault! What do you want of me, what is it, what is it, formulate it? And think, only think, it’s the middle of the night!”
“I want fifteen roubles, you sheep’s-head!”
“But perhaps I don’t care to take back the revolver. You have no right to force me. You bought the thing and the matter is settled, and you’ve no right. … I can’t give you a sum like that in the night, anyhow. Where am I to get a sum like that?”
“You always have money. I’ve taken ten roubles off the price, but everyone knows you are a skinflint.”
“Come the day after tomorrow, do you hear, the day after tomorrow at twelve o’clock, and I’ll give you the whole of it, that will do, won’t it?”
Shatov knocked furiously at the window-frame for the third time.
“Give me ten roubles, and tomorrow early the other five.”
“No, the day after tomorrow the other five, tomorrow I swear I shan’t have it. You’d better not come, you’d better not come.”
“Give me ten, you scoundrel!”
“Why are you so abusive. Wait a minute, I must light a
