But when she looked at him with that harassed gaze he suddenly understood that this woman he loved so dearly was suffering, perhaps had been wronged.
His heart went cold.
He looked at her features with anguish: the first bloom of youth had long faded from this exhausted face.
It's true that she was still good-looking—in his eyes a beauty, as she had always been. In reality she was a woman of twenty-five, rather strongly built, above the medium height (taller than Shatov), with abundant dark brown hair, a pale oval face, and large dark eyes now glittering with feverish brilliance. But the light-hearted, naive and good-natured energy he had known so well in the past was replaced now by a sullen irritability and disillusionment, a sort of cynicism which was not yet habitual to her herself, and which weighed upon her.
But the chief thing was that she was ill, that he could see clearly.
In spite of the awe in which he stood of her he suddenly went up to her and took her by both hands.
"Marie... you know... you are very tired, perhaps, for God's sake, don't be angry.... If you'd consent to have some tea, for instance, eh?
Tea picks one up so, doesn't it?
If you'd consent!"
"Why talk about consenting! Of course I consent, what a baby you are still.
Get me some if you can.
How cramped you are here.
How cold it is!"
"Oh, I'll get some logs for the fire directly, some logs... I've got logs." Shatov was all astir. "Logs... that is... but I'll get tea directly," he waved his hand as though with desperate determination and snatched up his cap.
"Where are you going?
So you've no tea in the house?"
"There shall be, there shall be, there shall be, there shall be everything directly.... I..." he took his revolver from the shelf,
"I'll sell this revolver directly... or pawn it...."
"What foolishness and what a time that will take!
Take my money if you've nothing, there's eighty kopecks here, I think; that's all I have.
This is like a madhouse."
"I don't want your money, I don't want it I'll be here directly, in one instant. I can manage without the revolver...."
And he rushed straight to Kirillov's.
This was probably two hours before the visit of Pyotr Stepanovitch and Liputin to Kirillov.
Though Shatov and Kirillov lived in the same yard they hardly ever saw each other, and when they met they did not nod or speak: they had been too long "lying side by side" in America....
"Kirillov, you always have tea; have you got tea and a samovar?"
Kirillov, who was walking up and down the room, as he was in the habit of doing all night, stopped and looked intently at his hurried visitor, though without much surprise.
"I've got tea and sugar and a samovar.
But there's no need of the samovar, the tea is hot.
Sit down and simply drink it."
"Kirillov, we lay side by side in America.... My wife has come to me ... I... give me the tea.... I shall want the samovar."
"If your wife is here you want the samovar.
But take it later.
I've two.
And now take the teapot from the table.
It's hot, boiling hot.
Take everything, take the sugar, all of it.
Bread... there's plenty of bread; all of it.
There's some veal.
I've a rouble."
"Give it me, friend, I'll pay it back to-morrow!
Ach, Kirillov!"
"Is it the same wife who was in Switzerland?
That's a good thing.
And your running in like this, that's a good thing too."
"Kirillov!" cried Shatov, taking the teapot under his arm and carrying the bread and sugar in both hands.
"Kirillov, if... if you could get rid of your dreadful fancies and give up your atheistic ravings... oh, what a man you'd be, Kirillov!"
"One can see you love your wife after Switzerland.
It's a good thing you do—after Switzerland.
When you want tea, come again.