Demons

Shatov again glanced at Liza, scowled, and grumbling 'What do I care?' moved towards the door.

'Ah, wait,' Liza cried out worriedly, 'where are you going? We still have so much to talk about...'

'What is there to talk about? I'll let you know tomorrow...'

'But the main thing, the printing! Believe me, I'm not joking, I seriously want to do it,' Liza went on assuring him, with ever increasing alarm. 'If we decide to publish it, where will we have it printed?

That is the most important question, because we won't go to Moscow for it, and the local printer is impossible for such a publication. I made up my mind long ago to start my own press, in your name, let's suppose, and I know maman would allow it if it was in your name ...'

'And how do you know I can be a printer?' Shatov asked sullenly.

'But Pyotr Stepanovich, still in Switzerland, pointed me precisely to you, as one who could run a press and was familiar with the business. He even wanted to give me a note for you, but I forgot.'

Shatov, as I recall now, changed countenance. He stood there for a few more seconds and then suddenly walked out of the room.

Liza got angry.

'Does he always walk out like that?' she turned to me.

I shrugged, but Shatov suddenly returned, went straight up to the table, and placed on it the bundle of newspapers he had taken:

'I won't be your collaborator, I have no time...'

'But why, why? You seem to have become angry?' Liza asked in an upset and pleading voice.

The tone of her voice seemed to strike him; for a few moments he studied her attentively, as if wishing to penetrate to her very soul.

'It makes no difference,' he muttered softly, 'I don't want to...'

And he left for good. Liza was completely struck, somehow even excessively, or so it seemed to me.

'A remarkably strange man!' Mavriky Nikolaevich loudly observed.

III

Strange,' certainly, yet there was in all this a great deal of obscurity. Something was implied in it. I decidedly did not believe in this publication; then there was this stupid letter, which all too clearly offered some sort of denunciation 'with documents,' which they all said nothing about, and instead talked of something entirely different; finally, there was this press, and Shatov's sudden departure precisely because they began to speak of a press. All this led me to think that something had already happened here before me of which I knew nothing; that, consequently, I was not wanted, and that it was all none of my business. Besides, it was time to go, it was enough for a first visit. I went up to Lizaveta Nikolaevna to say good-bye.

She seemed to have forgotten I was in the room and continued standing in the same place by the table, deep in thought, her head bowed, staring fixedly at one chosen spot in the carpet.

'Ah, you, too? Good-bye,' she prattled, in a habitually sweet voice. 'Give my greetings to Stepan Trofimovich and persuade him to come to me soon. Mavriky Nikolaevich, Anton Lavrentievich is leaving. I'm sorry maman cannot come and say good-bye to you...'

I walked out and had even gone down the stairs when a servant suddenly overtook me on the porch.

'My lady begs you very much to come back ...'

'The lady, or Lizaveta Nikolaevna?' 'That's the one, sir.'

I found Liza no longer in that big drawing room where we had been sitting, but in the adjoining reception room. The door to the drawing room, where Mavriky Nikolaevich now remained alone, was tightly shut.

Liza smiled at me, but she was pale. She stood in the middle of the room, obviously undecided, obviously struggling with herself; but all at once she took me by the hand and silently, quickly led me to the window.

'I want to see her at once,' she whispered, turning to me her ardent, strong, impatient gaze, not allowing for a shadow of contradiction. 'I must see her with my own eyes, and I ask your help.'

She was in a complete frenzy and—in despair.

'Who is it you wish to see, Lizaveta Nikolaevna?' I asked in fright.

'This Lebyadkin woman, the lame one ... Is it true that she's lame?'

I was astounded.

'I've never seen her, but I've heard that she's lame, I heard it only yesterday,' I murmured with hasty readiness and also in a whisper.

'I absolutely must see her. Could you arrange it for this same day?'

I felt terribly sorry for her.

'That is impossible, and, besides, I wouldn't have any idea how to do it,' I began persuading her. 'I'll go to Shatov...'

'If you don't arrange it by tomorrow, I shall go to her myself, alone, because Mavriky Nikolaevich has refused. I'm counting only on you, I have no one else; I spoke stupidly with Shatov... I'm sure you are a completely honest man and, perhaps, completely devoted to me, only do arrange it.'

A passionate desire to help her in everything came over me.

'Here is what I'll do,' I thought a bit, 'I'll go myself and see her today for certain, for