Shatov, who was standing over her.
'Marie, I'll do whatever you like... I'll walk, talk...'
'But can't you see it's begun?'
'What's begun, Marie?'
'How do I know. Do I know anything about it?... Oh, curse it! Oh, curse it all beforehand!'
'Marie, if you'd say what has begun... otherwise I... what am I to understand, then?'
'You're an abstract, useless babbler. Oh, curse everything in the world!'
'Marie! Marie!'
He seriously thought she was beginning to go mad.
'But can't you finally see that I'm in labor?' she raised herself a little, looking at him with a terrible, painful spite that distorted her whole face. 'Curse it beforehand, this child!'
'Marie,' Shatov exclaimed, realizing at last what it was about, 'Marie... but why didn't you tell me sooner?' He suddenly collected himself and, with energetic determination, grabbed his cap.
'How did I know when I came in? Would I have come to you? I was told it would be another ten days! Where, where are you going, don't you dare!'
'To fetch a midwife! I'll sell my revolver; money's the first thing now!'
'Don't you dare do anything, no midwife, just some peasant woman, any old woman, I have eighty kopecks in my purse ... Village women give birth without midwives... And if I drop dead, so much the better...'
'You'll have both a midwife and a peasant woman. Only how, how can I leave you alone, Marie!'
But realizing that it was better to leave her alone now, despite all her frenzy, than leave her without help later on, he paid no attention to her moans and wrathful exclamations, and, trusting to his legs, started headlong down the stairs.
III
To Kirillov, first of all. It was already one o'clock in the morning. Kirillov was standing in the middle of the room.
'Kirillov, my wife's giving birth!'
'How's that?'
'Giving birth, to a baby!'
'You're not... mistaken?'
'Oh, no, no, she's having spasms! ... I need a woman, some old woman, right now... Can I get one now? You used to have lots of old women...'
'It's a great pity that I'm not able to give birth,' Kirillov answered pensively, 'that is, not that I'm not able to give birth, but that I'm not able to make it so that there is birth... or... No, I'm not able to say it.'
'That is, you yourself can't help in childbirth; but that's not what I mean; a woman, an old woman, I'm asking for an old woman, a nurse, a servant!'
'You'll have an old woman, only maybe not now. If you like, instead, I'll...'
'Oh, impossible; I'll go right now to the Virginsky woman, the midwife.'
'A harpy!'
'Oh, yes, Kirillov, yes, but she's the best one! Oh, yes, it will all be without awe, without joy, squeamish, with curses, with blasphemy— this great mystery, the appearance of a new being! ... Oh, she's already cursing it now! ...'
'If you wish, I...'
'No, no, but while I'm running around (oh, I'll drag that Virginsky woman here!), you should go to my stairway every once in a while and listen quietly, but don't you dare go in, you'll frighten her, don't go in for anything, only listen... just in some terrible case. Well, if something extreme happens, then go in.'
'I understand. There's one more rouble. Here. I wanted a chicken for tomorrow, but no more. Run quickly, run as hard as you can. There's a samovar all night.'
Kirillov knew nothing about the intentions concerning Shatov, and even before he never knew the full extent of the danger that threatened him. He knew only that he had some old scores with 'those people,' and though he himself was partly mixed up in the affair through some instructions conveyed to him from abroad (rather superficial ones, however, for he had never participated closely in anything), he had lately dropped everything, all assignments, removed himself completely from all affairs, and in the first place from the 'common cause,' and given himself to a life of contemplation. Although at the meeting Pyotr Verkhovensky had summoned Liputin to Kirillov's to make sure he would take the 'Shatov case' upon himself at the proper moment, nevertheless, in his talk with Kirillov he did not say a word about Shatov, not even a hint—probably regarding it as impolitic, and Kirillov even as unreliable—and had left it till the next day, when everything would already be done, and it would therefore 'make no difference' to Kirillov; so, at least, Pyotr Stepanovich's reasoning about Kirillov went. Liputin also noticed very well that, despite the promise, not a word was mentioned about Shatov, but Liputin was too agitated to protest.
Shatov ran like the wind to Muravyiny Street, cursing the distance and seeing no end to it.
It would take a lot of knocking at Virginsky's: everyone had long been asleep. But Shatov started banging on the shutters as hard as he could and without any ceremony. The dog tied in the yard strained and went off into a furious barking. All the dogs down the street joined in; a clamor of dogs arose.
'Why are you knocking and what is it you want?' the soft voice of Virginsky, quite incommensurate with the 'outrage,' came at last from a window. The shutter opened a bit, as did the vent.
'Who's there, what scoundrel?' the female voice of the old maid, Virginsky's relative, this time fully
