Her lips were quivering, she was struggling with herself, but suddenly she raised herself and said with flashing eyes:
"Nikolay Stavrogin is a scoundrel!"
And she fell back helplessly with her face in the pillow, sobbing hysterically, and tightly squeezing Shatov's hand in hers.
From that moment she would not let him leave her; she insisted on his sitting by her pillow.
She could not talk much but she kept gazing at him and smiling blissfully.
She seemed suddenly to have become a silly girl.
Everything seemed transformed.
Shatov cried like a boy, then talked of God knows what, wildly, crazily, with inspiration, kissed her hands; she listened entranced, perhaps not understanding him, but caressingly ruffling his hair with her weak hand, smoothing it and admiring it.
He talked about Kirillov, of how they would now begin "a new life" for good, of the existence of God, of the goodness of all men. ... She took out the child again to gaze at it rapturously.
"Marie," he cried, as he held the child in his arms, "all the old madness, shame, and deadness is over, isn't it?
Let us work hard and begin a new life, the three of us, yes, yes!...
Oh, by the way, what shall we call him, Marie?"
"What shall we call him?" she repeated with surprise, and there was a sudden look of terrible grief in her face.
She clasped her hands, looked reproachfully at Shatov and hid her face in the pillow.
"Marie, what is it?" he cried with painful alarm.
"How could you, how could you... Oh, you ungrateful man!"
"Marie, forgive me, Marie... I only asked you what his name should be.
I don't know...."
"Ivan, Ivan." She raised her flushed and tear-stained face. "How could you suppose we should call him by another horrible name?"
"Marie, calm yourself; oh, what a nervous state you are in!"
"That's rude again, putting it down to my nerves.
I bet that if I'd said his name was to be that other... horrible name, you'd have agreed at once and not have noticed it even!
Oh, men, the mean ungrateful creatures, they are all alike!"
A minute later, of course, they were reconciled.
Shatov persuaded her to have a nap.
She fell asleep but still kept his hand in hers; she waked up frequently, looked at him, as though afraid he would go away, and dropped asleep again.
Kirillov sent an old woman "to congratulate them," as well as some hot tea, some freshly cooked cutlets, and some broth and white bread for Marya Ignatyevna.
The patient sipped the broth greedily, the old woman undid the baby's wrappings and swaddled it afresh, Marie made Shatov have a cutlet too.
Time was passing.
Shatov, exhausted, fell asleep himself in his chair, with his head on Marie's pillow.
So they were found by Arina Prohorovna, who kept her word. She waked them up gaily, asked Marie some necessary questions, examined the baby, and again forbade Shatov to leave her.
Then, jesting at the "happy couple," with a shade of contempt and superciliousness she went away as well satisfied as before.
It was quite dark when Shatov waked up.
He made haste to light the candle and ran for the old woman; but he had hardly begun to go down the stairs when he was struck by the sound of the soft, deliberate steps of someone coming up towards him.
Erkel came in.
"Don't come in," whispered Shatov, and impulsively seizing him by the hand he drew him back towards the gate.
"Wait here, I'll come directly, I'd completely forgotten you, completely!
Oh, how you brought it back!"
He was in such haste that he did not even run in to Kirillov's, but only called the old woman.
Marie was in despair and indignation that "he could dream of leaving her alone."
"But," he cried ecstatically, "this is the very last step!
And then for a new life and we'll never, never think of the old horrors again!"
He somehow appeased her and promised to be back at nine o'clock; he kissed her warmly, kissed the baby and ran down quickly to Erkel.
They set off together to Stavrogin's park at Skvoreshniki, where, in a secluded place at the very edge of the park where it adjoined the pine wood, he had, eighteen months before, buried the printing press which had been entrusted to him.
It was a wild and deserted place, quite hidden and at some distance from the Stavrogins' house.
It was two or perhaps three miles from Filipov's house.
"Are we going to walk all the way?
I'll take a cab."
"I particularly beg you not to," replied Erkel. They insisted on that.
A cabman would be a witness.