The luckless, innocent creatures!...
It's really cold here, though."
He remembered that she had complained, that he had promised to heat the stove.
"There are logs here, I can fetch them if only I don't wake her.
But I can do it without waking her.
But what shall I do about the veal?
When she gets up perhaps she will be hungry.... Well, that will do later: Kirillov doesn't go to bed all night.
What could I cover her with, she is sleeping so soundly, but she must be cold, ah, she must be cold!"
And once more he went to look at her; her dress had worked up a little and her right leg was half uncovered to the knee.
He suddenly turned away almost in dismay, took off his warm overcoat, and, remaining in his wretched old jacket, covered it up, trying not to look at it.
A great deal of time was spent in righting the fire, stepping about on tiptoe, looking at the sleeping woman, dreaming in the corner, then looking at her again.
Two or three hours had passed.
During that time Verhovensky and Liputin had been at Kirillov's.
At last he, too, began to doze in the corner.
He heard her groan; she waked up and called him; he jumped up like a criminal.
"Marie, I was dropping asleep.... Ah, what a wretch I am, Marie!"
She sat up, looking about her with wonder, seeming not to recognise where she was, and suddenly leapt up in indignation and anger.
"I've taken your bed, I fell asleep so tired I didn't know what I was doing; how dared you not wake me?
How could you dare imagine I meant to be a burden to you?"
"How could I wake you, Marie?"
"You could, you ought to have!
You've no other bed here, and I've taken yours.
You had no business to put me into a false position.
Or do you suppose that I've come to take advantage of your charity?
Kindly get into your bed at once and I'll lie down in the corner on some chairs."
"Marie, there aren't chairs enough, and there's nothing to put on them."
"Then simply oil the floor.
Or you'll have to lie on the floor yourself.
I want to lie on the floor at once, at once!"
She stood up, tried to take a step, but suddenly a violent spasm of pain deprived her of all power and all determination, and with a loud groan she fell back on the bed.
Shatov ran up, but Marie, hiding her face in the pillow, seized his hand and gripped and squeezed it with all her might.
This lasted a minute.
"Marie darling, there's a doctor Frenzel living here, a friend of mine.... I could run for him."
"Nonsense!"
"What do you mean by nonsense?
Tell me, Marie, what is it hurting you?
For we might try fomentations... on the stomach for instance.... I can do that without a doctor.... Or else mustard poultices."
"What's this," she asked strangely, raising her head and looking at him in dismay.
"What's what, Marie?" said Shatov, not understanding. "What are you asking about?
Good heavens! I am quite bewildered, excuse my not understanding."
"Ach, let me alone; it's not your business to understand.
And it would be too absurd..." she said with a bitter smile.
"Talk to me about something.
Walk about the room and talk.
Don't stand over me and don't look at me, I particularly ask you that for the five-hundredth time!"
Shatov began walking up and down the room, looking at the floor, and doing his utmost not to glance at her.
"There's—don't be angry, Marie, I entreat you—there's some veal here, and there's tea not far off.... You had so little before."
She made an angry gesture of disgust.
Shatov bit his tongue in despair.
"Listen, I intend to open a bookbinding business here, on rational co-operative principles.